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The Veil

There is total silence. This is, perhaps, the most remarkable element of this unmoving scene. There is a defined, unshatterable silence that seems to lurk for an unnatural length of time in this deathly cold place which dwells in the unthought of valley between two unyieldingly tall mountains of stone.

The black water swims lifeless and almost frozen, it is impossible to tell how far it’s depths plummet or how far some unknowing traveller would have to sink before drowning into its icy depths; swallowed whole by mouths that cannot taste. The water ripples unnaturally slowly, as if bewitched by some kind of phantasmal delay. It makes no sound. Nothing can challenge this impenetrable silence. A wilful silence. A gnarled tree grows up diagonally from beneath the waters of the black lake, its trunk almost too thin to support it. It seems to quiver sharply as if blown by some unfelt breeze. Its brittle branches shake dangerously, perhaps attempting to uproot some imagined leaves which may have once grown from its wood. If leaves had ever grown from this tree in this empty place, they grew no longer and were long gone, perhaps scattered to the wind or whispered away by the ever-turning wheel of time. Cogs working in unison that can never be broken.

The ghostly scene is lit by the subtle luminance of the full pale moon’s blueish glow which hovers, suspended by some unseen force, some unknown puppet master. Its glow seems so ethereal in its lurid nocturnal brilliance that it seems almost impossible to be of our world. It’s true, unyielding radiance seems so foreign in this spectral place, its waxy lunar luminance must have served some purpose. What its true purpose is remains unclear.

The tree grew up beside a huge stone archway which pointed slightly at the crest. The greying brow stone of the structure is crumbling into the black water, aged by time and event. Two turrets peak out from the top of the thin arch and sharply pointed, replicating the form of the archway itself. Between the turrets, a small section of shattered stained glass stood unpolished, giving the entire structure the appearance of a broken cathedral wall, a crucifix perhaps missing. Under the arch, a thick inky black mist rising up into the twilight sky from the water, its unfeeling fingers caressing the cold air as if beckoning the air to join it.

The black mist – smoke-like – engulfs the air around it and seems to move dimly through the frozen darkness. The mist seems to transcend from view and whisper away into the blackness beyond to some unknown province and out of view. A deathly thin pearl white veil flutters softly in the imagined breeze, clouding the place beyond from human eyes. It floats slightly. Once the smoke has pasted through it, it is gone from our world.

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About The Author
Mitzi1776
Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
About This Story
Audience
All
Posted
5 Mar, 2021
Words
477
Read Time
2 mins
Rating
5.0 (2 reviews)
Views
1,116

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