Autumn's ink flooded heaven upon dusk's kiss. With midnight's birth malevolence rehearsed callow resolutions thus provoked the manifestation of secrets, sin and a watcher whose interminable gaze swept over a nation of calculating tyrants.
Inward flew the phantom raven. Perched upon nightmare's sill, it focused on fermented intestines strewn abroad a cherry speckled floor. Beady coal eyes declined to wink in deaths rouse; transfixed by organ décor and a hollowed core. A penetrating squawk rushed forth in a billow of fog from its curved beak. As it shuffled warped chimes orchestrated hell's approach. Here abominations dwelled and angels fell. A dynasty of darkness was launched.
Her silhouette on the wall impersonate her every move. A whimper escaped her as she stumbled into the dark. As it swallowed her she exhaled sharply and even in the vague passing of moonlight between the beige blinds she saw her breath steam and rise in front of her. She knew even before seeing it that the raven had come at last for one final kiss.
YOU ARE READING
The Ancient Chronicles: Short Stories
HorrorA mysterious entity born from chaos breaks free from a hellish womb. The stories within are documents of a other godly race that no mortal can possible begin to fathom. These are the Ancient Chronicles.
