Specters of the Void: Part 2

    

     Tendrils of light, weaving through a complicated network of branches and needles as they endeavor to touch the ground may have inspired the ivy and brier as they claw their way to the sky; not only through the boughs on the trees, but many a castle roof as well. Likewise, the stone floors of just such lonely towers as vines pierce the ceilings mimic them in their trellis formation,  forming cracks upon themselves; and what tower would stand upon a broken foundation? Soon, the castle will fall and the ivy collapse, but the moon will see clear to the floor.

     So thought the moon as she gazed with cleared vision–the clouds had parted from her face–down upon her forest,  from which a thick mist now wafted, at times concealing it from her view. However, it could do nothing to stop her actual light from entering the forest, if only dimly.

     But hark, what horror of mist, what anguish of fog–there was a presence in the fog, the moon saw its breath–once in, once out. A cloud formed; when it dispersed the mist was again inert, utterly lifeless. But the moon knew what she had seen.

     I blinked. When I opened my eyes everything was darker. Feeling energy again entering my limbs at the first sign of seeing nothing to be alarmed at except the sudden darkness itself, I fell into a crouching position, in which I remained, still uneasy.

     Soon, however, the clouds cleared and the moon shone pure again through the foliage. I stood and, looking about me, descried a rising mist, which, in my folly, I had mistaken for the breath of some hideous creature who had come to torment me. Berating myself for this foolishness, I looked about with more care; the moon shone more brightly than she had so far, allowing me to discern the details of my surroundings with enhanced clarity.

     I was in a forest consisting of incredibly large pines, whose needles shone eerily in the alabaster light of the other-worldly watchers. Hints of muted and dusty jewel tones clung to the trunks of the trees; for all I knew, they could be just as old as both jewels and dust! Beautiful as this world was, I somehow knew it could not be my own. Touched, perhaps, by my world, and maybe connected somehow, but not one and the same with it. Where was my world–I could remember nothing of it, nor my life, nor myself. How would I go about seeking these things? For my being seemed to have departed from me, and I felt like one in a dream.

To be continued…

By Chaidie Petris

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