The small figure sat, head bowed, long knotted hair shrouding face and shoulders, in the dark chamber, deep in the bowels of an ancient building, bells tolling faintly somewhere far above, where the light shone and normal people went about their everyday lives, ignorant of the dark below.
Draughts tugged fitfully at the few torches straining to keep the dark at bay, bitter and cold, home to rats gnawing on the dead and dying and occasionally each other.
Enfolded in a deep hooded robe, another figure, tall and stooped, watched, through a small barred opening in the thick decaying Rowan door. The robe was damp and cold, as fingers blue and gnarled, clutched a quill and mildewed parchment, and began to slowly, carefully, scribe.
The small figure inside tilted its head slightly to one side, it's nose wrinkling once, before resting small pale grime encrusted hands in its lap, waiting, the nails on each finger perfectly formed and neither grimy nor broken, but tapered to the faintest suggestion of a point.
A faint flicker of light pierced the dark of the cell. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for a brief moment, a cat like reflection flickered in the gloom, before the shadows folded the interior once again into its dark embrace.
YOU ARE READING
Evanescence
HorrorThrough a window darkly. Things that aren't quite what they seem to be. Something ancient restrained deep in the bowels of an ancient Abbey. In 1746, Don Augustine Calmet, a respected erudite and renowned Benedictine Monk, learned in, and a prolif...
