Post by MalignedAngel on Apr 18, 2015 16:04:47 GMT
Setting the Scene: This piece was originally done as an exercise for a class that I had to take, but I am working with this character for my novel and am hoping to flesh him out a bit more. The piece had a certain page limit, which explains the shortness of the piece itself. Expect to see a little bit more of him.
Darkness fell, covering the land with its inky cloak. Crops, barns, houses, everything settled after a hard day’s work under the wan light of the crescent moon. Every window in the manor town began to glow with the flickering light of candles. If one walked down the dirt roads dividing the town into neighborhoods, one could easily hear the sounds of families sitting down to dinner, sharing a moment together. Laughter carried down the dark streets, but even the warmth of the sound could not penetrate the outer walls that protected the keep.
Within the keep there were few windows that betrayed light within. The halls were quiet, even the sounds of the rats scurrying across the stone seemed hushed. The servants, already abed, had doused most of the fires that warmed the castle before retiring. Now the keep was just a dark shell, devoid of any sign of activity, save for one room, the master’s room. The cool night air came gently through the open doors of the balcony. The curtains protested the intrusion with a half-hearted rustle, the only movement in the dark room. The brief chill swept through the room like a phantom, teasing the exposed skin of the sole occupant of the bed, before leaving just as quickly as it came.
Lord Shurugar Oussund lay amongst the sheets, his silver eyes staring absently above him. As the breeze ghosted over his skin, he turned onto his side, reaching out to the other side of the bed. Where he expected the warmth of another body, his fingers found only cold sheets and empty space. He closed his eyes and drew in a pained breath, his fingers bunching the rich fabric beneath his fingers. Never again would he feel the warmth of her presence next to him. She was gone.
He could barely stay awake, but to allow himself to dream of her would only increase the emptiness he felt when he reached out for her and found nothing but air. The solitude he felt was torture, a thousand daggers cutting into his heart. Never again would he spend another night with another at his side. He was left with an empty bed, and empty room, and an empty heart.
Darkness fell, covering the land with its inky cloak. Crops, barns, houses, everything settled after a hard day’s work under the wan light of the crescent moon. Every window in the manor town began to glow with the flickering light of candles. If one walked down the dirt roads dividing the town into neighborhoods, one could easily hear the sounds of families sitting down to dinner, sharing a moment together. Laughter carried down the dark streets, but even the warmth of the sound could not penetrate the outer walls that protected the keep.
Within the keep there were few windows that betrayed light within. The halls were quiet, even the sounds of the rats scurrying across the stone seemed hushed. The servants, already abed, had doused most of the fires that warmed the castle before retiring. Now the keep was just a dark shell, devoid of any sign of activity, save for one room, the master’s room. The cool night air came gently through the open doors of the balcony. The curtains protested the intrusion with a half-hearted rustle, the only movement in the dark room. The brief chill swept through the room like a phantom, teasing the exposed skin of the sole occupant of the bed, before leaving just as quickly as it came.
Lord Shurugar Oussund lay amongst the sheets, his silver eyes staring absently above him. As the breeze ghosted over his skin, he turned onto his side, reaching out to the other side of the bed. Where he expected the warmth of another body, his fingers found only cold sheets and empty space. He closed his eyes and drew in a pained breath, his fingers bunching the rich fabric beneath his fingers. Never again would he feel the warmth of her presence next to him. She was gone.
He could barely stay awake, but to allow himself to dream of her would only increase the emptiness he felt when he reached out for her and found nothing but air. The solitude he felt was torture, a thousand daggers cutting into his heart. Never again would he spend another night with another at his side. He was left with an empty bed, and empty room, and an empty heart.
