Frost 80 121
The Old Chuch tolled a silent song of beckoning - the blackness of its stone cried out against the backdrop of barren trees with branches kissed by starlight. At its center, kneeling at the foot of the church's inky shadow was a woman with the moon in her hands, lost in the magnificence of the sphere. She saw nothing but endless white light, glowing glowing glowing
The light flickered and she blinked as if rousing from an afternoon nap, lifting her chin to see the structure in its true form, with spires stretching towards the sky, the stars replaced by sunlight. Yeva looked back down at her lap, at the moon - or was it a scrying orb? - feeling the sphere's weight lighten and begin to float from her lap, rising higher in the sky, past the dilapidated broken windows of the church to take its rightful place. As if it had always belonged there, the moon stood before the sun and its brethren followed.
The smaller of the two moons inched across the sky. Yeva watched the convergence complete, night turned to day turned to twilight. The world took a strange lense of grey, disrupted by wisps of iridescent colors floating on the wind like dandelion seeds. The Old Church was whole, not in many broken pieces. Its sheer size, unobstructed by time and unknown challenges was suddenly at its pinnacle, looming and powerful. It was almost difficult to see the structure and believe it to be the same time-worn creation it was moments ago.
What Yeva saw was...
A fortress. A barrier. A gate?
Grand and powerful. As the third moon took its rightful place, the sound of a church bell tolled. Around her the different buildings that made up the church grounds surrounded her. Yeva noticed the bit of scrap nailed to the doors. Cardstock, hand painted. The ringing of the church bells grew louder, falling in tune with the sound of her heartbeat. Gong! Gong! Gong!
She stepped closer, the eerie sense of being watched quickening her footsteps. Each door, a different card.
She searched the familiar symbolism until she came to a door with strips of stained glass on either side of its archway. On the card there was a seer with curly red hair, a mirror image of Yeva painted in watercolor. She stood in the center of a stream and wore a fearful expression on her face. Cradled in her arms like a babe was a lobster. On her right sat a wolf, howling at the full moon. On the left, a dog.
Try as she might, the mystic could not remember its meaning. The toll of the bells blocked intrusive, clarifying thoughts, kept her from piecing together the purpose. Gong! Gong! Gong!
From her peripheral vision, a shadow passed across the colored glass, a figure on the other side. No words and yet she felt the call. Drawing her forward. Her hand touched the wood. The words were whispers, drowned out by the bells. Open the door. She reached for the knob, turned it. The lock clicked in resistance; the door would not budge. She leaned back, the bell pulsing through her body. The sound was unbearable now. She tried to pull herself towards the silver barrier.
Gong! Gong! GONG!
She couldn't think. Her mind felt as if it were being split and a wave of nausea followed. The woman stumbled in the direction of Zaichaer. Fear chilled her and she began to shuffle away with difficulty, as if slogging through boiling water. The bell was too much! She fell to the road, gasping. Just as she felt as if her mind would break, the bells ceased. Silence once more.
Hinges creaked and the door opened.
Yeva woke in a puddle of her own sweat, delirious. Fevered and crying. She rolled on her side, fighting the sheets that stuck to the skin of her legs, her nightgown hitched around her thighs. Heat consumed her body, she clutched the mattress, retching over the side of the bed. Every convulsion echoed the bells, memories of the dream haunting her as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the small pot usually reserved for hot water. The mystic could still picture the church, the card, the door. She could still feel it. It was a vision. It had to be.
Hytori weren't supposed to get sick.
The Old Chuch tolled a silent song of beckoning - the blackness of its stone cried out against the backdrop of barren trees with branches kissed by starlight. At its center, kneeling at the foot of the church's inky shadow was a woman with the moon in her hands, lost in the magnificence of the sphere. She saw nothing but endless white light, glowing glowing glowing
The light flickered and she blinked as if rousing from an afternoon nap, lifting her chin to see the structure in its true form, with spires stretching towards the sky, the stars replaced by sunlight. Yeva looked back down at her lap, at the moon - or was it a scrying orb? - feeling the sphere's weight lighten and begin to float from her lap, rising higher in the sky, past the dilapidated broken windows of the church to take its rightful place. As if it had always belonged there, the moon stood before the sun and its brethren followed.
The smaller of the two moons inched across the sky. Yeva watched the convergence complete, night turned to day turned to twilight. The world took a strange lense of grey, disrupted by wisps of iridescent colors floating on the wind like dandelion seeds. The Old Church was whole, not in many broken pieces. Its sheer size, unobstructed by time and unknown challenges was suddenly at its pinnacle, looming and powerful. It was almost difficult to see the structure and believe it to be the same time-worn creation it was moments ago.
What Yeva saw was...
A fortress. A barrier. A gate?
Grand and powerful. As the third moon took its rightful place, the sound of a church bell tolled. Around her the different buildings that made up the church grounds surrounded her. Yeva noticed the bit of scrap nailed to the doors. Cardstock, hand painted. The ringing of the church bells grew louder, falling in tune with the sound of her heartbeat. Gong! Gong! Gong!
She stepped closer, the eerie sense of being watched quickening her footsteps. Each door, a different card.
She searched the familiar symbolism until she came to a door with strips of stained glass on either side of its archway. On the card there was a seer with curly red hair, a mirror image of Yeva painted in watercolor. She stood in the center of a stream and wore a fearful expression on her face. Cradled in her arms like a babe was a lobster. On her right sat a wolf, howling at the full moon. On the left, a dog.
Try as she might, the mystic could not remember its meaning. The toll of the bells blocked intrusive, clarifying thoughts, kept her from piecing together the purpose. Gong! Gong! Gong!
From her peripheral vision, a shadow passed across the colored glass, a figure on the other side. No words and yet she felt the call. Drawing her forward. Her hand touched the wood. The words were whispers, drowned out by the bells. Open the door. She reached for the knob, turned it. The lock clicked in resistance; the door would not budge. She leaned back, the bell pulsing through her body. The sound was unbearable now. She tried to pull herself towards the silver barrier.
Gong! Gong! GONG!
She couldn't think. Her mind felt as if it were being split and a wave of nausea followed. The woman stumbled in the direction of Zaichaer. Fear chilled her and she began to shuffle away with difficulty, as if slogging through boiling water. The bell was too much! She fell to the road, gasping. Just as she felt as if her mind would break, the bells ceased. Silence once more.
Hinges creaked and the door opened.
---
Yeva woke in a puddle of her own sweat, delirious. Fevered and crying. She rolled on her side, fighting the sheets that stuck to the skin of her legs, her nightgown hitched around her thighs. Heat consumed her body, she clutched the mattress, retching over the side of the bed. Every convulsion echoed the bells, memories of the dream haunting her as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the small pot usually reserved for hot water. The mystic could still picture the church, the card, the door. She could still feel it. It was a vision. It had to be.
Hytori weren't supposed to get sick.
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