Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN -

Despite the intensity of the purple light washing away the colours of the garden, Michael was becoming accustomed to its brilliance. Looking around, he could not see the owner of the voice calling him.

"I must apologize for the mess," the voice said.

The shattered and fallen pillars littering the overgrown and the now entirely purple garden trembled. Slow at first, their bulk shifted before flying into the air. Spinning round and round, every piece of stone and ruin sprang from the ground, becoming an immense funnel cloud.

Michael stepped back from the flying whirlwind of cracked marble. His initial expression of awe faded. The phantom voice and its shifting stones were initially a surprise, but since dying, he had seen more astonishing sights than this. He was surprised to discover how desensitized he had become to such theatrics.

One by one the pieces joined together, melding with sand and dust. Broken slivers of stone and pebbles filled the cracks and gouges in the faces of the worn pillars. Segments mated with each other until what had once been destroyed was renewed. With thundering crashes, each newly reformed pillar planted itself back down on the grassy floor of the garden. Standing before Michael was an Acropolis reborn, backlit by the brilliant purple light.

"A new beginning, born of a broken past," The voice said.

Michael drifted above the grass, gazing at the new roofless temple that had been thrown together. The curling bands of the distant Aurora celestialis became dim and obscured by the mists above. Their shifting green and blue lights were unable to penetrate the violet light spreading through the garden. Michael reached out his hand, sliding it across the pristine marble. There were no signs of cracks or age on the smooth pillar.

"Anything is possible here." The voice said.

"I know." He said, turning away from the pillar. "Who are you? Where are you?"

"I am everywhere and I am nowhere. I am everything and nothing. I am every question and every answer. I fill the unknown places in between."

"And you speak only in riddles?"

"It depends on the questions I am asked." The disembodied voice replied.

"Are you going to show yourself or keep hiding?"

"Have I not shown myself to you already? Is this temple not proof enough of my presence? The light? My voice?"

"The temple is a parlour trick." Michael said, crossing his arms. "It may prove your presence but it's no more than that. If you want to speak with me, show yourself."

"Brave words for a soul with half its memories," The voice said.

"Insightful words for a spirit who hides from view." He rebutted.

A pale smoke rose from the grass near Michael. At first it was very thin, much like a cigarette smouldering in the grass. As Michael watched it blossomed into a thick plume. The smoke hung in the air, moulding into a vaguely humanoid silhouette with a pair of bright crimson eyes. The eyes narrowed as they focused. With the exception of the bright red eyes, the wisp reminded Michael of Raziel's shade, Whistlow. He wondered where his new companion was. He hadn't seen Whistlow since their introduction in Raziel's study. Michael looked into the dark eyes bobbing inside the translucent body of purple smoke. "You're still hiding."