Part 2 Chapter 7 - Anesidora
Amber waves danced with amethysts, glittering under a crescent moon in a starry rich indigo sky. Pearls and sapphires donned cream white skin, dotted with beige freckles upon high cheekbones and a sharp petite nose. Rosy cheeks warmed in the flickering fireplace of a large room with a sun window, with deep polished wooden floors dressed with scarlet carpet intricately embroidered with golden thread. Behind the young woman's figure silhouette of a long royal blue gown were the walls covered in bookshelves that reached the 20 foot high ceiling. Ancient historical biographies, educational encyclopedias, legends, myths, philosophical, parchments coated with faded ink of maps, and various personal diaries were categorized neatly, shiny gold letters in neat curvy penmanship as labels...
"Bran!" A forlorn dove-like voice called in the wind. It echoed and crackled with the embers alight in her lost eyes. Her call carried into the chill winter wind and evaporated near the cliff's edge, where waves crashed onto a pristine shore. The maiden's jaw fell in disappoint me as she heard no response, longing clinging to her heart and cold loneliness settling in. She clasped her hands together and began to sing slowly in a low melancholy tune.
"Flames flicker so sweetly...
The black rose is gone...
Ashes tell their story...
Of gardens long gone...
Kindle my heart, O Lord...
I am wed to 'nother...
Father sees all lies...
I betrayed him 'n mother..."
With those words she walked towards the fireplace and looked at the painting on the wall above it. It was an oil painting describing an open field with rock fences, a few cattle behind, with three young children playing, and surrounded by colourful bushes and trees, and a clear blue sky. The signature on the bottom was skinny and elegant and in the same penmanship as the golden labels on the book shelves.
She lowered her eyes to look at a few clay figurines neatly arranged on the red bricks of the fireplace. They were of ancient Gods and Goddess, wearing long flowing gowns clasped at the shoulder and waist by brooches. One of the figurines held a great sword in both hands, with the blade covering the center of his body, and expression of determination on his face. Another figurine was a slightly shorter lady with curves like a winding river in the valley whose gown flowed to her feet, and she held a small ceramic jar in her left arm. The third figurine was a young boy with curly hair wearing a tunic to his knees and he had a trinket attached to a train around his neck, while his eyes looked upward as if stargazing.
Letting her fingers trail on the hardened white clay, the woman sighed in remembrance. Just then a sharp 'CLICK' sounded and she was startled to turn around and face the intruder. With a gasp she stumbled backwards into the hot cast iron of the fireplace, the hem of her dress catching in the mighty flames.
"Anesidora!" Was the scream that pierced the lonely night.
YOU ARE READING
Celtic Memoire
Misterio / Suspenso"Krishka is mute... Clairvoyant... and irresistible. According to Brooklyn Asylum she's also INSANE." The Library. A Pocketwatch. And a Journal. Three precious things that Krishka can never let go. They're the only links to her past... a great...
