Beautiful Disaster

Beautiful Disaster Chapter 9

Chapter 9

                I should be killed.

                Then why am I being kept alive?

                It’s simple: I’m the only one of my kind.

                “Think av it dis way, yer wanted de truth. Nigh dare is nah ‘eadin’ back.”

                “It doesn’t even seem real.”

                “Until yer bake firsthan’ waaat Troy ‘as been through den it won’t.”

                “It’ll happen won’t it?

                “Aye. An’ it won’t be easy.”

                Troy had instructed Cole to bring me to my already prepared bedroom on the second floor. He leads me up a winding wooden stairwell carved out of dark cherry, decorated with intricate carvings, and elaborated with a thick stair rail. The walls are cobbled stone adorned with a few giant paintings of, what I’m guessing, ancient times that happened in the Otherworld. Half way up we pass a full-sized dome arched double-door window decked with wrought iron latticework. I take a peek through seeing that it only paints a scene of acres of woods.  

                Continuing up a few more steps, I encounter smaller portraits of landscapes, the nights and day, dragons, winged-ones, and vari. Throughout the entire wall are many other creatures and places that I yet not know the name of. Many times we’ve stopped by my curiosity so I may inspect a few. Cole doesn’t seem to mind as he goes in explaining every detail about a night-and-day portrait I’m gazing upon.

                “Ah, de Otherworld’s sunset,” laced around his words are longing memories of a few good times. “It is, ‘owever, pure much similar ter yers, Avala but so’tiz also quite different. Yer clap as de sun is settin’ it casts oyt ‘ues av silver, red, an’ gauld an’ sometimes wi’ de colors av pink, blue an’ poorpil. But de pure moment it ‘its de ‘orizon de sun instantaneously vanishes from day ter noight.” He points the night in comparison. “As yer can see we ‘av two moons ‘angin’ perpendicular ten wan another.”

                A day’s noon is very much similar with its golden sun resting high in the atmosphere. An army of white clouds marches over one another creating crafty pictures of all sorts of things. But there ends the similarities and the differences come and overtake. The sky, instead of a baby blue, is golden tinted with tidbits of blue. And somehow it’s memorizing promising a beautiful day ahead.     

                During the night its black canvas is beautifully painted with millions of diamonds dotting the sky in constellations. Its black silk is tainted with hues of dark purple edging around the night’s mist. Two moons are brilliantly lit while the first is as big as the sun sitting on the horizon as its twin is much smaller in size; lazily waiting behind the first perpendicularly.

                 “They’re both so different but yet so similar.” My gaze is locked on the painting tracing over every detail the painter didn’t fail to miss. 

                “One day you’ll ‘av ter gaze upon de stars in de Otherworld. That’s whaen al’ de magic ‘appens.”

                “I don’t doubt it.”

                We carry on our way up the last few steps onto a landing. There’s a large French door built out of cherry wood casted over like a dome inverted with a tiny stain glass window. Its framework is garnished with intricate detail. While carved in the doors themselves is detailed imagine of a winged-one. His wings are casted out, head straight forward, and at the level of his eye he holds a sword.