A window to the soul

[Pinkevilgirl 21]

-Lonely mountains-

 

The dull thump and the sharp crack echoed through the forest briefly before falling dead to the ground, muffled by the soft powdery white that blanketed the woodland. A pause and another dull thump and sharp crack echoed once more before being followed by silence. The steady rhythmic sound repeating itself a few more times before the heavy ax finally found its final foothold in the tree stump and was left there to rest. The metal edge buried deeply into the wood.

 

It was slowly leaning towards dusk, the sun's last few rays of light turning golden and bathing the landscape in their glow as the fur clad woman leaned down and picked up another one of the newly chopped pieces of firewood, stacking it neatly into the crook of her arm. Much like the landscape around her, she was quiet, only the sound of her feet brushing the snow aside and that of her clothes shifting a little as she moved, marking her presence. The backdrop of the snowy mountains and pine clad hills seemingly otherwise desolate and deprived of life. Even though someone who understood the landscape would know, there was always more than met the eye.

 

The woman, whose eyes was the colour of the ice currently springing forth like jagged teeth along the waterfalls, smiled a bit to herself and tucked the broad scarf a little tighter around her neck. Her scar always aching a bit when exposed directly to the solid cold, although it seemed like a small price to pay to be able to enjoy a landscape such as that. Besides, she loved the silence, because unlike a lot of people, she preferred the space and the freedom that came with it. The woman never having been one for crowded places like cities. 

 

There was too much noise. Too many scents. Too many people.

 

No, out there, just her cabin nestled among the mountains. The lone trail of smoke rising from the chimney of the blacksmith and painting itself as a contrast to the clear blue sky? Yeah, that was the good life. Just how she liked it. Just how she wanted it to be. But was it how it was going to stay? She didn't know. The heavy leather boots pushing the snow aside as she turned from the chopping block and walked back towards the wooden cabin, kicking a bit of the snow off on the stairs before stepping inside. What snow still clung to her clothes quickly starting to melt in the heat from the furnace at the end of the open room.

 

Snow, mountains and a lively fire to warm your hands on? What more could a northerner ask for.

Edited November 5, 2015 by Pinkevilgirl

[Angmarzku 1251]

Very nice post and litl' story! I hope one day i'll find you IG and rp! Good luck 'till then!

[Pinkevilgirl 21]

-Faded images-

 

She couldn’t remember much. In fact, the fragmented pieces she could remember were hazy at best. Although, occasionally, a deeply buried thought would force its way to the surface. Triggered perhaps by an image, a sound, a scent or a feeling. Although rarely when she was awake. For some reason, those lingering images stayed buried better when she was conscious. However, once asleep, once her mind had been left to its own devices as was often the case when you slept? Well, then things changed. And what had been forgotten or repressed, was sometimes able to wiggle its way free of the chains that held it down.

 

As was the case with the shadowy figure which silhouette stood painted against a dark night sky, wind whirling up the snow all around it and tugging at what appeared to be a big fur cloak resting over its shoulders. Menacing and with an air of dread to it, the figure loomed there, looking down just as she was looking up and suddenly, she felt cold. Cold as she realized she was on her knees in the snow, the delicate little crystals biting into her skin and melting to drain the heat from her already trembling fingers.

 

Her body felt as if made of lead. The light of an icy moon revealing the gleam of metal in the dark figure’s hand, travelling along the edge of a jagged blade and reflecting in white dead eyes that revealed nothing but a hollow emptiness.

 

So heavy… She could barely move. Everything ached. Heart racing and breath heavy, her lounges screaming with every breath of night air that was forced into them, chilling them from within and making her chest feel as if it was trying to explode. And that sensation of hopelessness. The knowledge that all was lost and yet, deep down, a small ember of burning spite not wanting to be quenched.

 

In her dream, she wept. The trails of tears sliding down her face without a sound, her teeth grit and her brows furrowed. In her dream the shadow raised its sword to strike and she raised hers. The wolf pommel blade moving as if in slow motion. The metal catching the flickers of snow that danced through the air all around them as time itself, in that little pocket, slowed and seized to exist.

 

She could hear her heart.

 

She could sense the beating of it.

 

T-thump. T-thump. T-thump.

 

Metal struck metal. The jagged edge of the shadow’s sword shattering that of her own. And suddenly, time returned. Her ice blue eyes widening in shock as the blade struck true and cut into her neck, drawing blood and…

 

… with a gasp, Saga bolted upright in her bed, bathed in a sheen of cold sweat as she found herself shaking. Her entire body tense and on edge as if she had been running for hours. Her breath ragged and trembling even as her hand moved to her throat to feel the scarred skin that ran across it. Those raised bumps of paler flesh forever reminding her of a night that was but a nightmarish memory to her now. One she couldn’t even tell if was true or just the creation of her own mind.

 

She felt sick, a trembling hand lifting to brush across her brow while closing her eyes and focusing on simply steading her breath. The scents of the cabin creating an anchor from the lingering reality of her dream.

 

Metal, wood, the smoldering embers still glowing a dull red in the fireplace. Those were real. The feel of furs beneath her and the fabric of her shirt against her skin a sharp contrast to the cold dread that had been gripping at her heart. And she needed to bury herself in those feelings and scents less she let the darkness creep back into her mind. The woman silently reminding herself that she was safe, she was warm and she was alive. The shadows of the past unable to reach there.

 

Although sometimes… sometimes it was really hard to believe her own mind when her heart kept telling her otherwise.

[Suicidium 1295]

(( An excellent read that had me enthralled to the very last word. I will certainly be looking out for your stories, it's quite interesting))

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.