Nevar Flat Notes
01-05-09, 01:06 AM
[This is a short story I wrote a long time ago that was the primary inspiration for the character I now use on Althanas. Comments are welcome and wanted.]
Alice
She strode the halls like a dark phantom. Blood billowing as her cloak and dress catch a ghostly chilled wind. Stark white, yet animated with a powerful fury. Heaven nor hell have wrath to match Alice scorned.
Alice stood over me, ice in those eyes and a butcher’s knife limp in her grasp, dripping with the blood of my friends. It thirsts for another victim. My gaze slowly made its way up her form, and though my fear grew I noticed every spider-web intricacy of her elegant death shroud. Beautiful, it was, and I wish you could have seen it. Every thread finely woven, like strings of a harvest moon pulled together by the hand of a cruel god. Even in distress, I recognized its perfection, and that it wasn’t originally that deep bone-chilling red. That tone was earned through the hearts of all the poor souls foolish enough to step into her domain.
It was all a game, you see, a simple risk of placing our courage against our fears. Standing and facing the darkness and not backing down. Right now, I wish I had been a coward. We had all heard the stories of the Rose Manor, our resident haunted mansion. Unlike most tales of horror, it wasn’t simply the children who avoided the estate. Since the disappearance of a sheriff and two girls, not even adults set one foot inside the grounds.
Mind you, it is easy to get in, leaving temptation alive to fester. The city’s fat gentlemen did try to lock the gates, but padlocks and cement would be found as ash the next day. Eventually they gave up and placed a ‘radioactive hazard’ sign nearby as an excuse. Everything was dead in that manor, so the adults could pretend the sign was true.
We couldn’t.
It was nothing but a dare to prove everyone wrong. Now I have seen three of my closest friends die, ripped to shreds and hung by their entrails on spikes, or worse. Her savage tricks had no end, finding cruel and tormented ways to wear us down and keep us in her play pen for as long as we could stand, up until that last moment where she ended our lives as bloodily as possible. Spilling our essence all over that elegant gown.
She was raising the butcher’s knife overhead when I thought, maybe our blood would be the last, hopefully she would starve. When we disappeared and nobody came looking, it was just possible that nobody would ever try again. I doubted it though, and I closed my eyes to the falling of that guillotine blade.
Alice
She strode the halls like a dark phantom. Blood billowing as her cloak and dress catch a ghostly chilled wind. Stark white, yet animated with a powerful fury. Heaven nor hell have wrath to match Alice scorned.
Alice stood over me, ice in those eyes and a butcher’s knife limp in her grasp, dripping with the blood of my friends. It thirsts for another victim. My gaze slowly made its way up her form, and though my fear grew I noticed every spider-web intricacy of her elegant death shroud. Beautiful, it was, and I wish you could have seen it. Every thread finely woven, like strings of a harvest moon pulled together by the hand of a cruel god. Even in distress, I recognized its perfection, and that it wasn’t originally that deep bone-chilling red. That tone was earned through the hearts of all the poor souls foolish enough to step into her domain.
It was all a game, you see, a simple risk of placing our courage against our fears. Standing and facing the darkness and not backing down. Right now, I wish I had been a coward. We had all heard the stories of the Rose Manor, our resident haunted mansion. Unlike most tales of horror, it wasn’t simply the children who avoided the estate. Since the disappearance of a sheriff and two girls, not even adults set one foot inside the grounds.
Mind you, it is easy to get in, leaving temptation alive to fester. The city’s fat gentlemen did try to lock the gates, but padlocks and cement would be found as ash the next day. Eventually they gave up and placed a ‘radioactive hazard’ sign nearby as an excuse. Everything was dead in that manor, so the adults could pretend the sign was true.
We couldn’t.
It was nothing but a dare to prove everyone wrong. Now I have seen three of my closest friends die, ripped to shreds and hung by their entrails on spikes, or worse. Her savage tricks had no end, finding cruel and tormented ways to wear us down and keep us in her play pen for as long as we could stand, up until that last moment where she ended our lives as bloodily as possible. Spilling our essence all over that elegant gown.
She was raising the butcher’s knife overhead when I thought, maybe our blood would be the last, hopefully she would starve. When we disappeared and nobody came looking, it was just possible that nobody would ever try again. I doubted it though, and I closed my eyes to the falling of that guillotine blade.