A fairytale
Jan. 16th, 2006 07:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narcasseA fairytale
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In a far distant land, in a strange and rambling castle their lived a creature of light and shadow; as strange as smoky glass, as wicked as the southern frost. The creature was neither male nor female, neither animal nor mineral, not old or young. It did not live or breathe as mortal things are want to do, nor did it love or comprehend as mortals must. It was a collection of light and shadow as old as a heartbeat, as young as time itself. And it lived in its empty castle of ice and stone.
For the castle was empty of all things one might expect to find normally in a castle. There were no tables and chairs, no curtains or carpets, no servants nor any other living thing. For the creature had no need of such things. It sat on a throne in an empty throne-room staring at nothing but the vast marble-tiled floor below its dais.
The throne-room was just as empty as everywhere else in the castle, save that if you looked just so you might almost be able to make out the fancy edges of gilt mirrors and wall panels. Of course the moment you looked too closely the detail vanished as if it had never been and the walls were once again perfectly plain and perhaps white with bleached columns sporting the barest decoration. Even the canopy above the throne that was a deep rich crimson, trimmed with beautiful gold thread, simply vanished if you looked upon it directly so that all was left was the suggestion of a shape sat silently upon an undecorated throne.
The entire castle was the very same. It was filled with the suggestion of beautiful, gloriously lavish decoration that would vanish at the first glance of a mortal eye.
The creature who lived in the castle liked it well enough because it never looked up at the carefully painted ceilings or the beautiful gilt mirrors or even at the heavy canopy above its own throne. It just sat there as only the suggestion of a being; the idea of long legs crossed, an elbow resting on the arm of the throne, cheek resting idly against a loosely curled fist. It sat in perfect silence and stillness and it was as if it were autumn eternal upon the land that surrounded the castle.
The winds howled and rattled the bare trees, tumbled dead leaves into skittering cascades and upwards spirals. The earth was barren and even the ravens called out mournfully to each other.
Then, in time passing, with the certainty of the night came a strange drumming, a forceful tattoo against the dead earth at the very edge of the creature’s domain. The hammering of black hooves striking the barren earth and from the East, riding as if it were against the very dawn, came a cloaked figure upon a horse. But this was no mortal rider, no prince come to save a sleeping princess, for where the hooves of the warhorse struck the ground there formed the spread of sharp frost and in the fluttering of the rider’s cape the land itself was transformed.
Snow began to fall, covering everything with its chill. The barren trees were covered with icicles, the smallest of pools with a layer of frost. Everywhere as the rider passed the earth itself welcomed the coming of winter. But for all this transformation the rider himself remained untouched; his gloves were uncovered by the frost and no snowflake fell upon his black cloak. And when he came to a stop in sight of the silent castle, there the winter paused with him.
He paused but a few moments before bending low over his mount’s back and urging the beast onwards at full tilt towards the castle. His long black hair spilled out behind him as his hood slipped aside and the frost rushed across the ground in celebration of his passing.
But inside the castle the creature still sat silently upon its throne, motionless as the very castle around it came alive with frozen beauty. Even as the throne-room was suddenly filled with the light of a thousand candles, when the gilt mirrors with their elaborate edges came sharply into definition, even when the canopy above its throne became the deepest flush of red, the creature didn’t move.
“What does it lack, my love?” a soft voice whispered into the creature’s ear.
“Dancers.” It said at last looking up to meet the unnatural violet gaze that fixed upon it’s now perfectly visible face.
And the marble floor was suddenly host to sixteen waltzing couples forming a square half way along the vast room. Music filled the room and the couples began to move, their steps perfectly precise. The suits of the men all of exactly the same cut, the gowns of the women swaying in exactly the manner, the green of dead skin flawless on every single one of them.
And as the dancers moved about the room, it was into their midst that the once shapeless creature and his winter-bearing companion made their way.
Their waltzing was perhaps not quite as precise as the other couples, nor might their attire be judged to be entirely suitable but in the once empty throne-room, in a land covered by eternal frost, their laughter alone was enough to freeze and wither any fragile human heart.
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One section from the first Alone in the Dark game seems to have stuck with me, at least.
++++++++++
In a far distant land, in a strange and rambling castle their lived a creature of light and shadow; as strange as smoky glass, as wicked as the southern frost. The creature was neither male nor female, neither animal nor mineral, not old or young. It did not live or breathe as mortal things are want to do, nor did it love or comprehend as mortals must. It was a collection of light and shadow as old as a heartbeat, as young as time itself. And it lived in its empty castle of ice and stone.
For the castle was empty of all things one might expect to find normally in a castle. There were no tables and chairs, no curtains or carpets, no servants nor any other living thing. For the creature had no need of such things. It sat on a throne in an empty throne-room staring at nothing but the vast marble-tiled floor below its dais.
The throne-room was just as empty as everywhere else in the castle, save that if you looked just so you might almost be able to make out the fancy edges of gilt mirrors and wall panels. Of course the moment you looked too closely the detail vanished as if it had never been and the walls were once again perfectly plain and perhaps white with bleached columns sporting the barest decoration. Even the canopy above the throne that was a deep rich crimson, trimmed with beautiful gold thread, simply vanished if you looked upon it directly so that all was left was the suggestion of a shape sat silently upon an undecorated throne.
The entire castle was the very same. It was filled with the suggestion of beautiful, gloriously lavish decoration that would vanish at the first glance of a mortal eye.
The creature who lived in the castle liked it well enough because it never looked up at the carefully painted ceilings or the beautiful gilt mirrors or even at the heavy canopy above its own throne. It just sat there as only the suggestion of a being; the idea of long legs crossed, an elbow resting on the arm of the throne, cheek resting idly against a loosely curled fist. It sat in perfect silence and stillness and it was as if it were autumn eternal upon the land that surrounded the castle.
The winds howled and rattled the bare trees, tumbled dead leaves into skittering cascades and upwards spirals. The earth was barren and even the ravens called out mournfully to each other.
Then, in time passing, with the certainty of the night came a strange drumming, a forceful tattoo against the dead earth at the very edge of the creature’s domain. The hammering of black hooves striking the barren earth and from the East, riding as if it were against the very dawn, came a cloaked figure upon a horse. But this was no mortal rider, no prince come to save a sleeping princess, for where the hooves of the warhorse struck the ground there formed the spread of sharp frost and in the fluttering of the rider’s cape the land itself was transformed.
Snow began to fall, covering everything with its chill. The barren trees were covered with icicles, the smallest of pools with a layer of frost. Everywhere as the rider passed the earth itself welcomed the coming of winter. But for all this transformation the rider himself remained untouched; his gloves were uncovered by the frost and no snowflake fell upon his black cloak. And when he came to a stop in sight of the silent castle, there the winter paused with him.
He paused but a few moments before bending low over his mount’s back and urging the beast onwards at full tilt towards the castle. His long black hair spilled out behind him as his hood slipped aside and the frost rushed across the ground in celebration of his passing.
But inside the castle the creature still sat silently upon its throne, motionless as the very castle around it came alive with frozen beauty. Even as the throne-room was suddenly filled with the light of a thousand candles, when the gilt mirrors with their elaborate edges came sharply into definition, even when the canopy above its throne became the deepest flush of red, the creature didn’t move.
“What does it lack, my love?” a soft voice whispered into the creature’s ear.
“Dancers.” It said at last looking up to meet the unnatural violet gaze that fixed upon it’s now perfectly visible face.
And the marble floor was suddenly host to sixteen waltzing couples forming a square half way along the vast room. Music filled the room and the couples began to move, their steps perfectly precise. The suits of the men all of exactly the same cut, the gowns of the women swaying in exactly the manner, the green of dead skin flawless on every single one of them.
And as the dancers moved about the room, it was into their midst that the once shapeless creature and his winter-bearing companion made their way.
Their waltzing was perhaps not quite as precise as the other couples, nor might their attire be judged to be entirely suitable but in the once empty throne-room, in a land covered by eternal frost, their laughter alone was enough to freeze and wither any fragile human heart.
++++++++++
One section from the first Alone in the Dark game seems to have stuck with me, at least.
