Project Excalibur ExcerptPrologueMore Like This
Midnight. Dark as
sackcloth, concealing the world. Stars
gleaming dully through its fabric like dirty jewels. The wind, pushing the bruised clouds with a
violence echoing a hurricane. Lightning,
festering within, peeking out at times before cringing back from thunder’s
illuminates a white-faced figure below, the only living thing for miles. Running at a speed which defies his frame, a
speed which he’s kept up for miles. His
mouth, open in a silent scream, acts as a mirror, reflecting the horror he’s
The terror of things,
things unknown, things best left to putrefy in the bowels of the earth but
which, through some poor fool’s action, were released upon its surface. The terror of things which chased, things
which thereafter pounced, and murdered; and not only murdered, but tortured;
things which spilled blood, then reveled in it afterwards.
Song of the DeepThe night was cold and the wind howled like a beast in distress as its invisible essence danced over the flow of the land. The boy walked against its breath carrying a ragged cloth filled with morsels.More Like This
He could smell the salt in the air and feel the push and pull of the eternal tide drawing him in.
Above not a single star was seen and below was the ever crashing waves; where they lead he did not now.
Why exactly he had run off to the shoreline in the dead of night with scraps from the night's dinner evaded the boy as he crouched behind a clump of sea grass to banish the cold from his arms.
There was the tugging again as the tide swelled. It was as if the sea itself was whispering to him, calling him, to sink into it's vast depths. And now he was certain he could hear a faint song despite the crashing of the waves. It's tune wash soft and comforting, like a lullaby, and made him want to fall into a deep, deep, sleep. Maybe this was all a dream.
He examined the crude bag's c
Fairy TaleThe Fairytale says that she should wake up but she doesn't.More Like This
She stays pale and silent and so beautiful and the Prince doesn't know why. The snow has started falling. Over there the bare trees become dusted with white, over here the robins and rabbits mourn.
He lowers his head and tries again but nothing changes. Her eyelids don't flicker and her lips remain cold. She's dead. She's dead and there is nothing he can do but sit there and hope and pray and try to kiss her again and again like the story says he should because she should come back that way. He should be able to save her that way. It's how it ends. It's how it's supposed to end. Not like this. Not like this.
His voice is a strangled whisper. "Please." He presses his cheek against hers. "Please. Please, come back." His voice starts cracking and he grips her stiff shoulders, gives her a light shake but it doesn't make a difference.
Around him the snowfall becomes heavier. It falls in heavy flakes on his head, builds up