Heritage of Székeshy
The Curse
Moisture gathers within small pools oddly oozing into one another in a less than futile attempt of becoming whole. Murky crimson and atramentous black bleed into putrid, cold roses forming across broken tethers and shattered floors around a husk decorated with verdant greens and cerulean blues. Curtains of dim starlight caress its lifeless cheeks, nightly critters sing a stern, yet calming lullaby. Cyclopean walls observe with a stoic countenance, and a singular burning heart clings to a rope descending from dark heavens to faintly lit hell.
Days, hours, minutes, seconds, moments and several lifetimes pass as emerald irises peer whilst sorrow trickles down into hell's depths. Ruin… has come, the cycle began anew. As the cadaver rests amongst remains of its hold, on a throne of loving memories and cold duty, its lengthy brown locks flow softly as tender breezes regard its pale skin. A faint smirk, a smile rests on those once blood red lips, as if it finally completed the calling which tormented its soul within for century.
Today the castle stands abandoned, no soul looms within. A simple ruin amongst many, another broken fort amongst rotting holds, houses and ancient dwellings.
...
The Curse
Moisture gathers within small pools oddly oozing into one another in a less than futile attempt of becoming whole. Murky crimson and atramentous black bleed into putrid, cold roses forming across broken tethers and shattered floors around a husk decorated with verdant greens and cerulean blues. Curtains of dim starlight caress its lifeless cheeks, nightly critters sing a stern, yet calming lullaby. Cyclopean walls observe with a stoic countenance, and a singular burning heart clings to a rope descending from dark heavens to faintly lit hell.
Days, hours, minutes, seconds, moments and several lifetimes pass as emerald irises peer whilst sorrow trickles down into hell's depths. Ruin… has come, the cycle began anew. As the cadaver rests amongst remains of its hold, on a throne of loving memories and cold duty, its lengthy brown locks flow softly as tender breezes regard its pale skin. A faint smirk, a smile rests on those once blood red lips, as if it finally completed the calling which tormented its soul within for century.
Today the castle stands abandoned, no soul looms within. A simple ruin amongst many, another broken fort amongst rotting holds, houses and ancient dwellings.
...
A hooded figure stood opposite of a grandiose structure. Letter and sheath within hand, toward a pressing gate they ventured.
@Fatherland
@Fatherland
