(This one is super short, not sorry)
It came upon me in the wings of a castle which soared over kingdoms tall and fair that I might be at fault.
It started with boxes. Musty, moldy, mildewed wood settled down on stone flooring with a rattle and a cloud of dust, puffed from dragon-smoke of long forgotten dreams, hopes, and aspirations. The arched doorway, acting as that very Dragon's maw, with its sharp fangs and devilish sneer — it did not seem all the welcoming to me quite yet. Of course, a bitter friend is better than a sweet enemy.
Over the course of a few weeks, it all flourished. No more did carved faces laugh at me from tiles of bones, piles of bones from which they spawned to rattle and shake in displeasure as I raided their home to be my own. This abandoned tomb would one day make a lovely garden, I thought, as I worked. Reworking old set-in-stone fashion and overcome with a certain sense of green, it was finally ready. Dashed and dotted with lines of colorful yellows, pinks, and purples, it seemed all too much like home now. Walls of moss, the steady drip of the damp ceiling, and beds of grass below, all sandwiched together between hundreds of books. And, even our own little pond.
Looking back, the caves of Gallovia hadn't offered me as much welcome as this tomb in Regalia did. Could this be a sign? I had flourished so much those centuries ago, could I once again fulfill that here, now, in this forsaken city? I still remember shivering nights, huddled in a crevice and waiting for something to happen — someone to fall into my mouse trap, and dreaming of long dining tables with red table clothes and rich purple carpets.
As I write now in reminiscent reverie of darkened caves and six foot graves, I think of what Regalia has to offer me. I'm hopeful for an old bastard.
Oh boy, was she wrong.
It came upon me in the wings of a castle which soared over kingdoms tall and fair that I might be at fault.
It started with boxes. Musty, moldy, mildewed wood settled down on stone flooring with a rattle and a cloud of dust, puffed from dragon-smoke of long forgotten dreams, hopes, and aspirations. The arched doorway, acting as that very Dragon's maw, with its sharp fangs and devilish sneer — it did not seem all the welcoming to me quite yet. Of course, a bitter friend is better than a sweet enemy.
Over the course of a few weeks, it all flourished. No more did carved faces laugh at me from tiles of bones, piles of bones from which they spawned to rattle and shake in displeasure as I raided their home to be my own. This abandoned tomb would one day make a lovely garden, I thought, as I worked. Reworking old set-in-stone fashion and overcome with a certain sense of green, it was finally ready. Dashed and dotted with lines of colorful yellows, pinks, and purples, it seemed all too much like home now. Walls of moss, the steady drip of the damp ceiling, and beds of grass below, all sandwiched together between hundreds of books. And, even our own little pond.
Looking back, the caves of Gallovia hadn't offered me as much welcome as this tomb in Regalia did. Could this be a sign? I had flourished so much those centuries ago, could I once again fulfill that here, now, in this forsaken city? I still remember shivering nights, huddled in a crevice and waiting for something to happen — someone to fall into my mouse trap, and dreaming of long dining tables with red table clothes and rich purple carpets.
As I write now in reminiscent reverie of darkened caves and six foot graves, I think of what Regalia has to offer me. I'm hopeful for an old bastard.
Oh boy, was she wrong.
