Edge

She began to wander further into the empty graveyard, curious eyes studying the variety of different tombs and grave stones. There were more candles. More incense, and more broken doors. More vandalism. But there were more paintings as well, all of them beautiful against the chalk and old bricks. Most of the paintings were abstract and loose feeling, but a few were quite detailed.

The further in she got, the more everything seemed to be built on top of itself. It felt as if the place had existed for centuries, growing up slowly over time like an old tree. There was also another sensation that Asha couldn't quite describe, being in this place. It was an out of focus sort of feeling, like something standing at the edge of a blind spot in her mind. Something or someone standing and watching from the shadows of the empty tombs.

The voice was getting louder.

Reality was setting in deeper.

She turned another corner, and saw the old woman in the near distance. The myriad of candles perched everywhere made it just bright enough to see. The sight was ere–yet strangely enchanting, like a bizarre story book come to life. If gave Asha the twinkling sensations of both fear, and curiosity. Fearful of what was coming–but a sense of curiosity because this woman actually did exist, and therefore maybe hope possibly existed. This woman of fables was real, and Asha had found her after all this time. What else could be possible?

The elderly woman was heavy set, with long raven-black hair. Her nose was short and crooked, and she wore what looked like a mismatch of brightly colored torn blankets. She was looking directly at Asha, and the singing had stopped. An odd silence hung in the air, and at first Asha didn't know what to do. She stared at the silent, unmoving woman for quite some time. Light from the candles flickered against their surroundings, but other than that everything was still. It was almost as if time had missed a step, and stopped somewhere unknown. The sky was an empty black void above. A hollowed madness staring down from eternity.

Asha noticed suddenly that the old woman was standing near an entrance to one of the tombs, and in her hands was a misshapen basket full of flowers. There were petals sprinkled at the edge of the steps leading into the tomb.

Asha looked down at her feet, and saw more petals. She glanced behind her. A trail of petals from where she had came. Had she been following this trail all through the maze of bricks and paintings without realizing it?

She looked back ahead, and the old woman was gone. For a brief moment, Asha's heart rose up into her throat, and her hands went numb.

Then she noticed the trail of flower petals continued forward. Not down into the tomb, but around and past it.

She began to follow.

Silence lingered still, and it made Asha uneasy. She was moving quicker now. With the old woman out of sight, time felt as if it had started again, but at too quick of a pace. Her heart was beating fast. That feeling that there was a watcher in her blind spot felt more like many watchers now. Hiding in the shadows behind her–and in her own thoughts even. Monsters with terrible secrets, perhaps. Waiting and haunting, and growing impatient.

Asha turned another corner, and almost walked right into the old woman, who was standing there unmoving and smiling. The woman's eyes were completely white, except for small black specs in the centers. There was something terrifying about these blank, cold eyes–especially contrasted against the exaggerated grin. Something inhuman, and ancient. Something not of this tired world.

Asha looked down.

The old woman's hands were long, fat, and covered in paint, the fingertips raw and extra swollen.