The earth is careening straight down the tracks to hell and the humans are at fault.
Trapped in the dungeons of an ancient burial grounds and tortured to the brink of insanity, the God and Goddess of balance have been separated, unleashing a terrib...
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Meika's Perspective
The darkness is only as powerful as you believe it to be.
Within every century there is a war. Whether it be one within yourself or a cause worth fighting for, decisions need to be made and battles are hard-fought.
I've never seen winners and losers.
Only death and triumph.
Eventually, someone is exhausted and broken beyond repair, shards of defeat slowly ripping them apart from the inside out whether emotional or physical. The worst being the mental destruction, the loss of all comprehension between right and wrong.
My darkness is collapsing before my very eyes.
Her mind is broken.
The unhinging process has begun.
A star spattered dusk consumes the now-empty town in a cloak of violets and muted blues. Enveloping the taller buildings and casting upon the remaining civilians a greying shadow, the world turns off every night slowly, like a city blinking from life to sleep.
The boy bid me to find the tavern.
I pitted him against his siblings.
And from sun high on I watched in the void of the streets, waiting for my own opportunities. Perhaps he expected it to be over with quickly, thought we would be meeting up only hours after separation.
If only.
My eyes lower onto the small pub, a dimly lit warmth echoing out from the window sills. No radiating light, just candles that flicker inside. For the last hour, no one has come in or left.
One soul's flame dances around in there, humming soft words to me of power and tranquility. Alone, I only see the fluttering of a lengthy skirt sweep across the hardwood in circles, curling up when the young witch ceases and spins toward a new direction. Dust swirls around at the end of a broom, much more beautifully than any ordinary being.
She dances to her own tune, in her own world, completely disengaged from the chaos surrounding her small shelter.
I still cannot believe Iridian came in here, knowing every ounce of our history and every single custom as if she were raised in it herself.
Tugging some of my stuck cloak off of the clingy bricks around me, I step forward. Momentarily illuminated by street light only to slip down to a cellar window and peer in through the bars.
A much younger witch is snoring with a scroll draped over her face.
The brunette appears to be in a deepening state of surrender to that parchment, a smirk lifting my lips momentarily.
Squeezing through the bars and popping the window open, I lift my hand momentarily. An orb appears and I drop, allowing the spell to swallow any and all sound filling or exuding the room. The window rights itself, clicking back into place and I find myself making brisk strides to get away from the young, drowsy witchling.
