FATE

Dictation

Picture of Chaos enclosed above. This is the prologue.

Castellations of nothingness laced through the dark halls of The Cove, leading me through a path I knew too well. They were rather outdated, an eyesore at most, but if you were living a couple centuries back, you would have deemed them as beauteous.

If I painted the walls black, the room wouldn't have been any darker. The once frilly net curtains at the window became thick with over a decade of grime; nobody bothered washing them. The light that struggled through had failed to light up the room. Strong as it was, all it did was enhance the colour scheme of the once beige carpet, which was more like a forest floor in both colour and texture at the time. The walls, upon inspection, could have been any shade at all, nobody was able to tell, but I remembered painting them a royal blue a couple decades ago.

It reeked of old age. The room was still and quiet except for the hypnotic tick of the old wooden wall-clock hung by a single rusty nail. That was, of course, until my dress shoes started clanking against the floor, each step echoing throughout the almost empty room.

Heading towards the oval meeting table, which could be safely described as one of the few pieces of furniture decorating the room, I took a seat.

Might it had been a table that could have easily fit twelve people, it was always occupied by three; Chaos, Hilaeria and I. There was no need for the extra chairs, they have been unoccupied for eternity, literally, but nobody had it in them to remove them, to take away from the room's nonexistent personality.

I huffed, fingers tapping the old wood in agony. Had they ever arrived in time?

Chaos never did, out of spite, and Hilaeria is too pampered to not have a grand entrance, claiming that it is a necessity for an entity to be 'fashionably late'.

Just as I was about to link the receptionist, the aura of the room changed. Warm was it no longer, for Chaos had entered.

A smug grin on his face, Chaos strode in. We never really knew what exactly was he; he was not identifiable as male nor female by looks, and we never dared to ask. He was no it, that's for sure, since his ore was one of a malevolent man. But his face fluctuated from day to day, each enforcing one side of the counter arguments. He didn't seem to be bothered by the pronouns utilised when addressing him.

He was soon followed by Hilaeria, ever so graceful and pure. Her long nougat-brown hair cascaded down her shoulders effortlessly in perfect waves. A pair of arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes.A sculptor could not have fashioned her seraph's ears and pixie's nose any better, for they were of perfection. A set of dazzling, angel-white teeth gleamed as she shot me a pained smile. It could jolt you like an electric current when that megawatt smile gave you her full attention.

Her plump pink lips were in a pout as she was carrying the compendium, a book woven by the witches of the utmost south of the underworld that automatically narrates each week's most important events of both the mortal and immortal worlds. We were to make decisions as to never disrupt the balance between both, or the balance between the creatures of each. Must I admit, it was a pain, and we were all sick of it.

Noting her expression, I rushed towards her, taking the heavy compendium from her hands, setting it on the table.

Her honey sweet voice filled my ears, a melody, as she muttered a thank you.

"How marvellous! This week's chapter looks juicy, doesn't it?" Chaos stated. If he had pupils, they would have been wide with astonishment right now. He does not. His eyes are white, more or less, not a single speck of colour enlacing them, all which contributed to the fact that he was hard to read. You never knew when he was lurking about your soul, staring into you, stirring and igniting your deepest fears and sending you into a poignant frenzy. He always sent shivers down my spine and bile up my throat. He was not to be reckoned with.