a waking twilight.

(dream part one)

The citadel stood, ancient rock firm. The castle stretched tall before the countless rows of soldiers, their swords glimmering in the harsh moonlight. Dark shadows fluttered in the many towers, sending waves of shivers through the others standing in wan determination.

They stood for defense. Above, in the towers, others stood, readying their bows. All eyes were on the regiment leaders. All thoughts were on the king.

He stood, his balcony hundreds of feet above the main courtyard. A darkness fell over his features, a twisted, contorted, writhing mist. Dissonant screeches echoed on the outskirts of his senses, each tormenting sound propelling shivers down his spine. Stiffening.

A dark-cloaked figure came up beside him, a hood pulled low over its face. Without a word the figure pulled back the hood, allowing dark hair to fall free to slumped shoulders. The woman's eyes were darkened with pain and grief.

The king said nothing.

"This darkness, my lord..."

"What is it to you?" The king spoke finally, turning slightly to level a keen gaze upon the woman. She shrank slightly backwards, her hands retreating into her cloak.

"It is covering you, it is - controlling you." Her halting words emanated fear. The fear spread to the king's face for a moment.

"It is not," he replied brusquely, turning back to the massive army gathered below. "It is not darkness. It is not covering, it is not controlling."

"Then let the light judge this waking twilight."

The king's face changed imperceptibly; he turned with the spark of guile in his eyes. "The light? What has the light done to gain the ability to judge?"

"The darkness is covering. It controls. Light frees-"

"Do you know what I see?" His eyes were wild, dancing with deceit. "I see dawn. In the darkness. See it?" He pointed towards the west, where the mountains met the sea in thick, dark forests. "The darkness hails the light."

"The light diminishes in the west. You do not glorify that which hails darkness."

The king smiled slightly, lifting his hand to the woman's face. "It will not stay dark," he murmured softly, pulling the hood over her face. "In the shadows there is light. Do you see it? In that shadow," he gestured to her features beneath the dark hood, "There is a glow. A beautiful glow.. Marta..."

The familiar seduction whispered in the air, breathing beneath the surface, pulsing.

"Let the light determine this." The woman replied softly. She pushed her hood back. "I will take the light itself over guile and manipulation."

Without a word the king withdrew his hand and turned away.

"Where is the light in all this?" She asked quietly.

"The light has failed us." The king muttered.

"We have failed the light." The woman retrieved from her robes a tall staff, ornately carved. The king stiffened and turned, seeming to instinctively sense something in the staff.

"What do you intend-" The king's eyes darted from the staff to the woman's dark eyes, which were steeled.

"We let the light judge." She raised the staff, closing her eyes momentarily. Her mouth moved in silent prayer, and there began to gather in the space around the staff a prismatic barrier of dimly glowing light.

The king's face contorted as she slammed the staff downward, striking it against the ancient stone. With a sudden crack, the stone split down the center, sending a lightning-hot spiral of light into the sky. A dissonant scream filled the air, and the king fell to the ground, clutching his head. The staff stood, sucking shadow from around it.

The woman staggered backwards, her cloak whipping in the sudden gale. Suddenly the balcony shuddered, the supports groaning. Stone thundered from beneath, falling, crashing to the courtyard below. The regiments beneath moved with unrest, backing with wide eyes towards the safety of the walls.

A roar rose from the lit spiral, and ancient words were heard, crying out from the winds. They wailed for change, for repentance, for light to be restored. The darkness was whispered into the vortex, opening the darkness with shrieking, yawning, gaping rifts in the sky.

And suddenly the madness spun into silence. Dusty shadows began falling from where the sky had opened. Marta, curled up in the opposite corner of the balcony, emerged from her cloak. The staff still stood, embedded in the ancient stone that formed the balcony's floor; it shuddered.

The king lay still, his lifeless body stretched out unnaturally. A shivering, quaking mist poured from his chest, gathering in a small, reddish glow at his side. Marta stood, shaking, and moved to the king, standing over his form. Far below the balcony soldiers scurried, the reports of enemies nearby filling rushing, murmuring conversations.

She bent and touched the side of his cold face, which was contorted in a permanent, hating scowl. It was slick with a thin film of cooling sweat; she withdrew her hand.

A bone-chilling groan shot through the balcony, and half of its stone dropped away with a roar of open wind and shadow. Marta grabbed for the retreating balcony as she fell away, tumbling through the air. She looked down for an instant and saw that the dark mist that had congregated about the king's body was clinging to her, refusing to leave. The reddish glow therein formed a sphere of dimly pulsing light, and it hit the ground a moment before she did.

Suddenly air whipped past her face, and she was being carried, lifted, born up into sudden light. It was so utterly bright; she instinctively covered her eyes against the light, but it only became brighter. When she emerged, blinking, her eyes tearing from the wind, she realized she was being carried through and around and among the many towers in the citadel. Where the light would congregate on the towers, however, only shadows remained. In the windows where lamps usually rested there stayed only pools of darkness, dripping with shadow beams to the glowing rafters of dark.

She blinked again and all was dark, light, pulsing with insignificance. Inside she loathed the light, inside she craved the dark pools. She writhed in torment under the cold, unwavering dark/light that bore her upwards. The rivulets of dim shadow's glow fell in a dark lament beneath eaves, and she scrambled towards it, forgetting that which carried her. Again she fell away, this time falling without ancient stone beneath her. Only empty, empty air, whipping wind.

The impact sent one spike of pain to her mind before it all ebbed into silence.

posted by paradoxically correct @ 1:06 PM