I made for this for @suspiciousbears (aka the other admin of this blog) based on their original story idea about a mysterious presence in the forest.
full story below
On the outskirts of the rundown town, on brink of the wild and cultivated; winds willow at the bounds of two worlds. The wild place harbours the free, a place where thoughts are heard louder, and minds are less aligned. The cultivated preserves order, with no room for chaos or differ.
Birds nestle and lizards daze as the warmth of the day settles behind the long stretch of brushed foliage. A coolness of fresh frost begins to gather in the hollows and the frogs croak with delight.
‘Do not wander at the brink of the wild,’ as the old legends told. ‘a panic surrounds the domain of The Unknown.’ But the old stories never had weight on your heart. You walk the edge of the town in peace of the cool evening’s wonders.
‘Beware the light, beware the dark.’
The path breaks to an end, cracked and broken. It's odd, for you swore it continued on home only yesterday. From the peripheral of your sight- from the edge of the forest, there is a bright ink that spills around the trees and fills the air. You move as if following a sweet scent as it coerces one foot, and then the other. It seeps through into the dark of the forest, where the moon and the stars shy away from its world. You feel happier in this brilliant light, as anything else means nothing to you.
‘Its brilliance will leave you free of your mind, and of your fear; trapped and screaming to turn back.’
The silence is unbearable, for the animals don’t simply sleep in a place like this, but rather, do not live to see it. Crickets don’t chirp here, frogs don’t delight in the hollows. All but a single tawny owl perches in an elm above you, the light swirls in it sockets where its eyes should be. Nevertheless, it can still watch. The beat of its wings brush you with cool air as it swoops down ahead.
‘The forest animals perish at its presence. All except the hollow-eyed ones, haunting the trees.’
The light beckons you further until no other light exists, until soon enough, it too disappears, leaving you with your confusion in the dark. Eventually you muddle on in pitch black until a small clearing lined in a circle of stone appears ahead- an archway of lime standing tall at the canopy.
A lone stag perks its head at your direction, its antlers back-lit from the energy spilling from the arch like a pulsar. Like the owl, its eyes are hollow with Mesmer. Its breath escapes its nostrils, filling out the air like black ink in water; Its fur is matted and charred. The Unknown stares knowingly of its claim, an unnatural demonic grin splitting across its muzzle. In fear, you turn to run, but you cannot step back across the table of stones now. You stare, but do not see it move or approach, but within a second it has you and within another you don’t see anything.
‘At its source, the table of the arch will hold you and The Unknown will claim.’