Young Writers Society

Her name was Branwen a young girl around the age of eighteen and a vision of rare beauty but that was hard to see for her dark ebony locks where dull and ratted. Her deep lavender eyes had lost there shine but instead glue bright with sadness and her pale honeyed skin was dry and cracked. But that day was clear, as clear as a polished crystal. It was the day she would learn what destiny had in store for her the air was a fragrant wave of vanilla and sandal wood. And the sky was an angelic blue she found herself trying to escape a forgotten chapel. That lye in the middle of a spherical mountain range but this chapel was far different. Than most for it was not a place of wisdom and beauty like you would think but a forgotten waste. Long sense abandoned by the monks and priests of its youthful days that was many years later made into an orphanage by a poor and bitter woman. Named Madame Arabella a once wealth and happy woman drove to the point of cruel insanity after the lose of her beloved daughter. So she began to take in unwanted children yet treated them as if she hated all children. It was a large building hidden away by the gnarled moss covered fingers of long senses dead tress. A places where children did not fall asleep to a warm bed and sweetly sung melody. But instead rocked in a cold hard cradle by the hand of a withered old hag and lulled by the pecking order of ravens ready to kill for there next meal ''I'm glade i have you Nana that place would scare me.'' '' I'm glad i have you to.'' The walls where old and piled of there ancient paper many had even crumbled over the years and lye. In piles of gray dust blowing in the ghoulishly murmurs of the wind. The floors cracked and creaked with every step taken on there dwindling floorboards. Even the sheen in them had all together vanished in its old age and left a kind of faded and splintered sky of light brown. Nothing had remained even the garden did not grow but left there to wither away like a pile of decaying rote something you think would not happen. But I suppose there was one thing that still stud the tomes of so many dead as if some kinda of plague stuck and had killed all in its path. They stood there covered in winding rose vines something so obscenely beautiful yet so eerie. sending chills down the spins of those daring to glance upon them. She ran away from this damned and unmerciful place darting in and out of trees climbing the hill side and hoping that there would be a place of purity where her feet where leading her body. And as she had reached her destination she fell into a bed of soft green pungent grass and stared into a ball of liquid gold fire she lay there in a state of relief. Yet it did not last long for the clouds grow dark and damp. The air bitter and harsh even the smell had faded bringing with it a new one it was dark and powerful yet kind and playful something like innocent purity being tainted in a cruel manner. My heart pulsed in my chest like a stamped of wild horses running from a storm the shy darkened and covered the land in silence. Yet then it was not the sky for as she looked close at the horizon it seemed to be a dark gray cloud of smoke and cinder dancing in the wind as if. It where a ballet of tiny dancers dressed in gray and a faint reds carrying the screams of many as if where a prop in there route