(This is something that i started and kinda felt had promise but, as is my way it lost momentum and currently fails to make any progress, i have quite a few ideas that carry on from this but none down in ink yet, and in case you feel its too gloomy it will not all be this melodramatic. If you reckon its worth carrying on tell me, and if you feel it isn't, please also tell me cos last thing i wanna do is waste my time.)
He sat amidst the darkness, only a single silvery shadow dared to intrude upon this bastion of gloom. The fire had died long ago but he still contemplated, he saw ember upon ember fade away, and now he was alone. Every whisper of form within the room taunted him, every beat of the old dieing clock was strange and yet as dull as its predecessor. A hand lashed out languidly, a glacious glint flickered and then broke sending a crescendo through the night. Another hand fell limp, its mechanic heart ceased. Silence once more held dominion and no more could he feel the empty seconds glide past.
In every scant highlight of the room he saw her, in every sound her laugh echoed and for every trace of her he allowed to remain in his reality he chastised himself, he threw his soul asunder amongst the shards. He blinked slowly and deliberately and pushed himself out of the cold, dead embrace of the chair, wavered for a second, then drifted across the dark expanse and felt the cold glint of the moon on his flesh. For a second it almost nourished him, but then he reviled from that too and shrunk back into a more homely abandonment. Faint illumination of tome upon tome which he saw before him again tempted him forwards, but in them he saw only row upon row of dead words, ideals long forgotten and fallen heroes. He turned away from this necropolis of knowledge, his breaths, deep yet empty, never faltered but he knew that he would soon need to join those who went before him, for a short time at least, he nearly smiled at this last thought then terrible remembrance of what sleep would bring, and he fell grim once more.
He knew the dream scape he would be drawn into once sleep came to reclaim his mind, dark bastardised reflections of a once holy domain. Once divine realities were now grim memories, her avatar within his soul had transformed with unerring ease from a gentle Aphrodite amongst silk sheets to a dire succubae splayed across some blooded sepulchre. Again an involuntary longing to smile at that which to all of his sensibilities but memory felt to be melodrama.
Once more his skin glinted with silver but this time it seemed a welcome sanctuary from that suffocating gloom. With little effort the wall of panes before him swung open and with deceiving calm he fled from that tomb.
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