Post by Nadja on Apr 18, 2009 15:11:22 GMT -5
The earth had come alive, as was the season called spring. Tree's filled with the tender light green of new leaves or the fragrant blooms of delicate flowers. The rich earth covered beneath sweet grasses, flowering fruit bearing plants, and the colorful heads of the many blooms of flowers as they stood tall to capture a kiss from the sun. The delicate fragrance of nature imbedded in the gentle warm breeze that played with branches of all vegitation, causing them to sway in a mesmoric dance to the sweet symphony played by nature. The hum of insects as they did their arial dance from one plant to another, to seek their nutrition and play their part in polonizing all they touch. The twitter of song birds singing out to their own kind as they sought food, building materials that will soon house their offspring, and to intrigue possible mates. Wildlife that have awaken from their winter slumber, making their way about their territory in search of that to sait their hunger from so many months asleep, and to remark their territory. Soon new life will scamper over the fallen leaves of the past, as they join the new blooms that come with spring. Feel the warmth of the sun as it touches them with it's loving caress of rays, and the gentle rain that would occassionally fall to add it's life giving substance to all. As beautiful as deceptive, a vision and feeling that could very well mask the truth that lurked; the darkness which hoovered on the edge of humanity, seeking it's way to enter and destroy all that lay's in it's path.
This the tiny Rom knew, has always known, for she heard the whispers of those that are no longer available for viewing by the masses; Those who existed on a plain beyond the living, breathing realm. It would present it's coldness to that inner eye, the twisted darkness that awaited for that moment to be unleashed. To say it made her feel cold would be an understatement, but even one such as she could sense the coldness of such a thing. If her heart still carried that steady thud of life, the darkness would have held it's grip of fear upon it. It would reach out to her, a light caress of it's frigid fingers to brush against her cheek, then glide down the slender column of her throat. It's eyes, deep voids of black that seemed to draw you deep inside and close around you in a suffocating manner. So surreal that it would cause her to sit up and gasp, causing a deep intake of air that was no longer needed, simply a reflex of humanity still fresh in memory.
The night had encompassed the area, the rise of the full moon that covered the lands with it's silvery blue light, and that of the stars that embedded the evening sky with their diamond like quality of reflection. From the small Vardo that was her home, the small Gypsy would exit and gaze upon the forest area she claimed as home. The soft grass felt under bared feet as she stepped across it. Obsidian colored eyes peered into the thickness of the trees, viewing all that rested about her. Although awake, she could still feel the caress that touched her cheek, so much so her hand would rise to trail her fingers over the inflicted portion of soft, smooth flesh. Was it simply a nightmare? The whispers, the touch, those eyes! As much as she wished it to be so, she knew deep inside how real it really was.
The people of the lands was in danger, she knew not from what, but it would be destructive none the less. How does one warn others about something that is felt rather than seen? She had tried in the past, though her voice was never loud enough to be heard. Many would think her warnings to be of events that would soon after unfold. War, attacks, kidnappings, and disappearances would all be reasoned to be the danger told about. However, these were simply preludes to the event yet to touch all. Events that were not the doings of the darkness that yet lurked on the outer edge waiting, although it did find them to be beneful, as it fed on the anger, sadness, and death to which they caused. Feeding on it like a preditor does a wounded animal in the wild to gain strenght and power. No, it had yet to reach out and touch the lives of those it would soon consume. It was waiting, seeking, but for what?
It was time for the tiny rom to come out of hiding, to make her way back into the throng of life known as Karamoon. Many months her face had not been seen in the market places and businesses, or walking along all the pathways. Her inner turmoils and demons had caused her to hide deep in the forest, to become a recluse, a hermit. The nature of the wanderer tugged strongly, however she felt as if she had become planted in this land, roots that held strong like the mighty oak. She knew not why this area called to her the way it did, held such a grip upon her that she was unable to simply ride away. The small camp would be torn down, belongings packed with care into the Vardo, before making way to collect the Piebald that would pull it all. Soon the small, colorful wagon would head towards the heart of the land, the area which pulsed as the crossroads to all lands that surrounded it. It would be well past dusk before the Gypsy would be able to view the port from the distance.
This the tiny Rom knew, has always known, for she heard the whispers of those that are no longer available for viewing by the masses; Those who existed on a plain beyond the living, breathing realm. It would present it's coldness to that inner eye, the twisted darkness that awaited for that moment to be unleashed. To say it made her feel cold would be an understatement, but even one such as she could sense the coldness of such a thing. If her heart still carried that steady thud of life, the darkness would have held it's grip of fear upon it. It would reach out to her, a light caress of it's frigid fingers to brush against her cheek, then glide down the slender column of her throat. It's eyes, deep voids of black that seemed to draw you deep inside and close around you in a suffocating manner. So surreal that it would cause her to sit up and gasp, causing a deep intake of air that was no longer needed, simply a reflex of humanity still fresh in memory.
The night had encompassed the area, the rise of the full moon that covered the lands with it's silvery blue light, and that of the stars that embedded the evening sky with their diamond like quality of reflection. From the small Vardo that was her home, the small Gypsy would exit and gaze upon the forest area she claimed as home. The soft grass felt under bared feet as she stepped across it. Obsidian colored eyes peered into the thickness of the trees, viewing all that rested about her. Although awake, she could still feel the caress that touched her cheek, so much so her hand would rise to trail her fingers over the inflicted portion of soft, smooth flesh. Was it simply a nightmare? The whispers, the touch, those eyes! As much as she wished it to be so, she knew deep inside how real it really was.
The people of the lands was in danger, she knew not from what, but it would be destructive none the less. How does one warn others about something that is felt rather than seen? She had tried in the past, though her voice was never loud enough to be heard. Many would think her warnings to be of events that would soon after unfold. War, attacks, kidnappings, and disappearances would all be reasoned to be the danger told about. However, these were simply preludes to the event yet to touch all. Events that were not the doings of the darkness that yet lurked on the outer edge waiting, although it did find them to be beneful, as it fed on the anger, sadness, and death to which they caused. Feeding on it like a preditor does a wounded animal in the wild to gain strenght and power. No, it had yet to reach out and touch the lives of those it would soon consume. It was waiting, seeking, but for what?
It was time for the tiny rom to come out of hiding, to make her way back into the throng of life known as Karamoon. Many months her face had not been seen in the market places and businesses, or walking along all the pathways. Her inner turmoils and demons had caused her to hide deep in the forest, to become a recluse, a hermit. The nature of the wanderer tugged strongly, however she felt as if she had become planted in this land, roots that held strong like the mighty oak. She knew not why this area called to her the way it did, held such a grip upon her that she was unable to simply ride away. The small camp would be torn down, belongings packed with care into the Vardo, before making way to collect the Piebald that would pull it all. Soon the small, colorful wagon would head towards the heart of the land, the area which pulsed as the crossroads to all lands that surrounded it. It would be well past dusk before the Gypsy would be able to view the port from the distance.
