The Darkness, the Girl and the Light
Nightfall arrived on the doorstep of a newly wintry evening with unannounced ferocity. A breed of night
so affluent with its nothingness, that it denied freckled-starlight to puncture through. Moonshine was devoured, and the sky had shed; maturing into a peculiar hue of saturated, resonant navy. Faded pigment
made blackest shade. Upon Ettinor this felled darkness came, and it was the waxen steward; domesticated
sunspots, lured into ignition against it. This ensemble of chittering flame was given chorus, their voices risen like pale moondust. North of Ettinor was a dominion of past-loved land known as Whirerm. Its landscape rose at frayed edges, forming a natural impasse, wherein a valley, where most of Whirerm’s settlements were seated quite prettily between the cloud-breasted Phylin Mountains. Pressed upon the teat of the north-most mountain was a small city of it’s time, where dwelt eleven-thousand bodies, and ten thousand souls.
Forgotten to most but, remembered as Xethrok. Winds came sharp, flesh-piercing with their frost, particularly during the winter months as these, and aside from the manor-house of the Nekir family,
witness up-high to all these suffering from the protection one of the two walls that wrapped it’s arms
around Xethrok, from edge-to-path, all Xethrokian homes retained this marking of dusk, cold, darkened shells. Underneath the manor, overflowing in golden light seeping out of almost every pore as the solitary star in the night sky, an ember struggled sustained living in the stables, unnoticed by the Xethrokians laid in bid to rest. A single candle grew head of flame in this Xethrokian stable, under the embrace of a young woman.
A girl in the twilight-autumn of life, of surely exquisitely embezzled beauty, wrought from behind her eyes, that caused the heart to burn with mechanical invigoration and turn wildfire-like onto the world; the night had imprinted itself upon her, her skin prided the same endlessness as the night’s sky, and yet when fragmented candlelight fell on her, she was luminous.
Alongside her, a boy – and no older than the noun 'boy' could afford, helped with what muscle his body could justify. Frail, yet not so much that his tongue lacked steadiness. He never quite knew when it was time for him to speak less, it seemed as though he were incapable of enacting this thought, had it ever occurred. This was becoming of such an age, of vocal interest and abstinent silence.
To her, the topic was done, stagnant in its inevitability. Prevailing and withstanding her bleak responses, the boy was too incessant for chat, and she gave herself reconsideration of their tenuous relationship.
- an excerpt from the book I'm writing.
2087
germansingergirl
areudirty
dededos
annaxmalina