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Jan. 21st, 2013 05:05 pm
It was a strange kind of house, at once far too large to be called merely a house and left in far too much disrepair to be one either. It was a grand place though, or had been once. Elegant and luxurious, something out of a bygone age. It was a fitting contrast... something so beautiful now turned ugly and dangerous. Floorboards creak under foot, patches have already given way, only one staircase is really usable and there is debris scattered throughout. Plaster and concrete and broken furniture, the melancholy remains of a grand piano, the sad slanted frames upon the wall, a fine shimmering dust of glass covering the floors of the bathrooms. Mirrors cracked and crushed under the weight of years. It was a place forgotten, abandoned by those that had loved it once.
It was a place only too appropriate for her.
But perhaps the strangest thing of all was that... there were no doors in this grand house. No ways in or out no matter how far or how long you searched. The lower floor did not even have a single window and the upper levels all were barred. Beyond the cold, wrought iron bars glass was shattered, chilled air spilling in, making the house creak and moan in protest. After those shattered window panes... the world in all it’s splendor and the sun just barely edged over the horizon, casting everything in golds and misty violet-greys as it set. Beyond those windows were fields and forests, beautiful and vibrant and alive.... and utterly unreachable.
She stood at the window, feet bare and bleeding from stumbling over the ragged and dangerous terrain of the house, a long simple dress hung from her shoulders in a straight line, the rich blue-violet fabric tattered and flecked with blood at the bottom where it brushed her feet. Simple and light and the hairs on her arms raised with goosebumps as the breeze rushed in, cold and bringing with it the crisp scent of coming snow. It was so cold here... and yet the sun looked so very warm and inviting gleaming off the trees.
But even as she was, hands lifted to the barred windows there was still some small sliver of hope, a single red thread wrapped around her pinky, pulled taut as it vanished outside the window. It was a fuzzy memory, some distant voice in her mind that told her this had meaning, had purpose. She knew this, if only she could remember how... It was a story, a myth, a legend of destinies and though she had once scoffed at the ideas somehow seeing it, real and tangible and part of her made it a distant flicker of hope.
Hope did not last forever, however, and the next moment the gold bled out of the landscape, leaving everything cast in greys and dying colors. The room she stood in turned pitch at the corners, the light seeping out of the room, the life seeping out of the world and suddenly, as night fell and darkness overtook her the tension, that gentle pressure of the thread on her finger stopped as though the thread had snapped... and she was alone.
Hope did not last forever, however, and the next moment the gold bled out of the landscape, leaving everything cast in greys and dying colors. The room she stood in turned pitch at the corners, the light seeping out of the room, the life seeping out of the world and suddenly, as night fell and darkness overtook her the tension, that gentle pressure of the thread on her finger stopped as though the thread had snapped... and she was alone.
