Cleans and Rebirth - Tales of Old

Entries from across the three realms, tales of the damaged, twisted and corrupt. The eyes in the fire and the voice in the night.

In essence these are simply personal notes for a very, very large story. Everything is part of one narrative but very little may make sense.

Image Credit: http://jonasdero.deviantart.com/

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2. The Ghost of Veryngar - Entry 1

It was during the last white season. I had done something, something I had regretted infinitely. I had only the choice to turn to her, the warder of bodies. The only one to shroud my sin. I had known body merchants in my land, though I needed great skill for a request most odd. I had called forth into the night and soon after her voice had echoed back. A small shack in the redwood we would meet the following sunrise, a single candle lit upon a long table in the centre. I wait for mere moments before her arrival. A white hooded figure gracefully wonders through the rotting door with a large fur coat over one shoulder. A silver plate shields all but the pearlescent eyes of her face. Without a word she lays the grand coat on the table, revealing a warm body as requested. I feel its neck, still pulsing, yet no resemblance to my own likeness. She turns to me, staring through my eyes into my inner workings. She removes the plate for only a second, a face of pure pale beauty. She opens her mouth, leaning in as if for a kiss. Two long blades descend from her top row of teeth. My heart rattles at my chest as she breathes me in, her eyes whiten further to an almost hypnotic state. Removing her gloves she turns to the body, placing both hands over its blank face she sinks her pale talons into the flesh of the forehead. I hear a haunting moan as she peels back the fresh skin of the face as the body twitches. I look upon her work. My face, on the body of a man not alive nor dead. I stare in awe as she steps aside to present her product. This was not moulded by mortal hands.     

As I gazed upon her eyes I could see the likeness of a myth since passed; she was pure. The only living memory of a creature we had feared to cross. They had thought it a mere peasant’s tale to keep children from wondering into the dark. But I, I knew, the stories of that ominous place may yet be more, much more than an entertainers concoction. I hold back a thousand questions I dare not ask. She gently takes the payment from my frozen hands as she leaves, briefly turning she whispers from her shoulder ‘Should we cross paths once more, you shall behold an equal fate.’ Fear remained shielded in my shroud of astonishment as she disappeared into the woods of white. The eternals were not lost…

 

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