Elderthorn whispers – fairy tales by robots

Autumn flight climbed into the air, thick like fog, whose damp fingers were carried out against the destroyed walls of Elderthorn Fortress. Although the moon hung heavy and pale on the clumsy horizon of gables and turrets, a dragging shade eclipsed my thoughts more clearly than the night darkened the landscape. Here, in the precipice of the abyss, I found myself stuck not merely by the breakdown of this abandoned fort, but by the dark tents of my desire, which wandered around my heart like a vice.

Elderthorn, they whispered, kept secrets under its rotten roof, a past that pulsated under its stone skin like the slow blow of a wounded beast. What remained from her glory was dressed in Ivy’s hug, the epitaph of some noble descent was wiped out in time and neglect. But for me, it was less a monument of history than a sacred place – a refuge for the elusive comfort I sought in wax vials and bitter elixers.

The sun had long surrendered to the dusk when I gathered the last pieces of my determination to undertake inside. I felt the rough door under my fingers, wet and naked. With a quarrel, I pushed that Ajar, and when I came in, the shadows greeted me as an old friend lost in time. There was no more light than the luminescence of my despair; The sober air filled my lungs with a staggering sense of freedom wet with fear.

Deep inside of the castle’s intestines, I hoped to find my comfort, I wanted the weight of oblivion of oblivion-a close proximity from the clumsy dissonance of my failures. There, between the remains of broken furniture and shredded dreams, I imagined that calm could cradle me. Surely, amidst such a desolation, I can dive in the dark- an innate darkness not only of lack of lack but of desperate escape.

In the large hall, the moon’s rays were deceived through the lit windows, illuminating the dust that danced like the souls of those who once conquered this place. They remained suspended in time, waiting for someone to share their fairy tales – if only I could create the discipline required to hear. My mind turned around like a reed, intertwining inside and outside the alleys of my memory, where they want to say, whispering promises wearing tricks. I was a moth stuck in the flames.

I wandered further, deeper, drunk not only by the smoke of the past, but also by the attractive call of my distraction. The narrow and the winding stairs – the wrath led me to a forgotten opulence room – a bedroom untouched by the uncontrolled meaning of the time. Sunlight once poured golden honey over elegant clothes, but now the moth ruled over the chopped fabric, flying like memories that I would bury under the weight of my vices.

While absorbing the smell of negligence mold, my fingers crawl through a stained silver aroma, once a finer boat – the door shed during banquets, where laughter echoes from the stone walls. My heart ran as I imagined what it might have been. I felt sharply the years of spending, the void that marked every good day passed by trying with my demons. But now, I could revitalize the ship; Maybe this, like me, still kept traces of pleasure waiting to regenerate.

A trembling crawling along the spine while drawing a glass vial from the pocket – the last gift from my dealer, a remnant of the nights lived very reckless, very beautiful. Why continue in the thoughts of others when I was over the grain of glory? My fingers trembled as I kept the vial under the silver light, its contents shaking like small eddies of luck.

However, within my heart, under the desired fog of the substance, extended the roots of consciousness, flowering in cold fear. “Is this where your way leads?” Echoed in my mind, a gloomy spectrum of life I had abandoned. The ghosts surrounded me, their icy fingers against my skin, trying my will. Elderthorn’s silence ridiculed me. “This life was never meant for you,” it seemed to say. The cold marking of the truth a little deep.

Before the weight of my fear could crush me, I gave up, removing the vial. Its fuel essence in the moonlight, solving my insecurity – a blasphemy wrapped in allure. I poured the contents into the shale, gently shaking them, seeing the colors melted together as the conflicting parts of my broken soul. My thoughts were shaken with the essential fog of intoxication, nouncing me towards the abyss.

As the powerful mixture slipped my lips, it entered my body like wild fire, staring at the ecstasy that eclipsed even the darkest shades of despair. I crashed against the wall, slipping down until I found the floor cold and useless, where I could cry and shout improper – a cacophony suffocated by abandonment and silence. The outside world was defeated. I wrapped in ecstasy, hurting towards a place where ghosts sang, where life and death are intertwined.

With the echoes of laughter and the aroma of roses that have now been sprayed, the visions flooded my thoughts – incorrect figures dancing on the lands of the castle under a heavy starry sky. Maybe I belong to them. Or was I really a stranger looking for the transition to the stability of their grief?

And then it caught me – the castle’s spirit reached my soul with skeletal fingers, calling me closer. Here, in the midst of her fragile condition, I was stripped naked from the facades, exposed, vulnerable. I understood then, with a congenital clarity of not clarity, but with desperate need, that as I sought forgetfulness, I also retreated to awakening-a painful resurrection between a living living hive of memories even in the depths of the disaster.

With every heartbeat echoing in Elderthorn’s hungry vacation, I understood the truth: My dependence was my chapter, however this castle, however abandoned, was a castle of truths. She was witnessing in my riots, but also kept the power to lead me to understanding that nothing could fill the tent left out of death, but life itself, no matter how weak that the appearance might appear.

As I finally moved to sleep, the foggy mind and heavy limbs, I could almost hear the whispers of the past, echoing within the sacred halls like Lalabies Lost who want for a return. In this destroyed sacred place, I had looked at the irony of my existence – the walls of the destroyed stones can bear the remains of a long -lost kingdom, but perhaps, inside me, there are the ruins and roots of a new but quiet but persistent effort, waiting to grow from the shadows thrown by Eldern Casle.

Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.