Ladies and gentlemen, this is Vanity Fair. Please remember, Vanity Fair is a very vain, wicked, foolish place, full of all sorts of humbug, falseness and prevention, not a moral place certainly, nor a merry one, though very noisy. A world where everyone is striving for what is not worth having.
A soft sound of birdsong echoed over the trees that grew proud and tall throughout the glades. Their lush green leaves reached high into the evening sky at sharp points; daggers glistening in the dying light. Suddenly, a new light awoke. Bright strands of coloured light hung from the trees in vibrant shades of red, yellow, green and purple as strings of fireflies woven through the thick gnarled branches. Their false luminance cast a shadow upon the ground between the sickly grass that grew from its dry cracked soil. As the light sprung into action, a melody of a trumpet, a violin and an overwhelming organ began to emanate loudly all around. A waltz. It overcame the gentle birdsong until it vanished completely into the darkened sky. A subtle breeze blew, rustling the leaves which the waltz rode, never tripping and stopping. It would continue forever.
A huge iron gate stood open ahead. Its metal twisted as vines growing; snaking up and up. Coiled springs. Through the towering gates, the waltz grew ever louder, and the glory of the night skies lay corrupted by the false light of the strands which had greatened in number succeeding the gates. Ladies and gentlemen came and went like moths to a flame amongst the twinkling light which was reflected and refracted all around this strange place. They seemed to laugh and converse oddly, as if attempting to convey some sort of false emotion to the others, for what else had they to convey? Not reality nor love nor truth nor promise, no, simply the illusion they had built themselves to live within. A land of dreams that should never be. Nightmares that haunted the darkness.
A strange dew shrouded much of what remained ahead from view. A veil of decay and magic, hiding the truth from unwilling, eyes that could not see. That chose not to see. For the truth was not necessary to the enjoyment of their lives as they were.
A huge tent centered within the clearing. Brightly coloured in shades not dissimilar to that of the fireflies strings in the emerald trees. The large flap opened hurriedly to display the scene within. No music sounded beneath the canopy. An elaborate stage stood central with scarlet curtains neatly tied back, so that the stage could be viewed. The semi-circular edging of the stage was adorned with many mirrors, what were once mirrors, they had been cracked and smashed and now lay partially in pieces upon the stage. Shattered to smithereens. The light reflected in the pieces and an odd luminance was cast in patterns across the circular material that encompassed the theatre. The jagged pieces lay as broken teeth depicting everything and nothing. The tent was empty apart from a young girl with raven locks falling to her waist, her sea blue eyes blinked softly as she looked into the pieces. She smiled gently, curling her ruby lips. For she knew of the humbug, falseness and pretention that grew within this place and she knew that Vanity Fair would not stand forever. Turning on her heel, she slowly walked off the stage, behind the curtain, never to return to Vanity Fair again.
YOU ARE READING
A Book of Shadows
RandomWelcome to a world where nothing is what it seems. From now on question everything; trust nothing you read, feel or know. The pages just might be deceiving you. Watch your eyes. You might just get lost between the lines.
