The wind blew across the moors, ancient, unrelenting and brutal. It battered against the rocks, a thousand voices screaming for escape. Her hair embraced these screams, the strands rising and sinking in pitch. It whipped across her face, hiding her eyes from the world, a world that had burned her too many times. The final time just passed, something that was hers and hers alone had turned, leaving scars that no surgeon or healer could hide.
She had tried many paths, they all ended in disappointment, revealing shallow depths and deceptive masks. One by one fragile supports gave way until nothing mattered anymore. It was only her internal desire for survival that kept her with a roof over her head and food on her plate. Many she knew would be grateful for those things, but deep down for her there was a dark void and she wanted it filled.
Every night, that one sensation plagued her whilst she slept and more so when she could not. Often she would try to fill that void with partners, some good, some bad, but most indifferent. Whilst it made the night more bearable and often fulfilling, it only made her days more complex and false. That was until she met her, she had met the witch, she had met Lilith.
When she first met her the name ‘witch’ sounded absurd. But curiosity grabbed her, slowly turning to desire for Lilith. As she fell deeper into Liliths world, the word ‘witch’ seemed less absurd. It grew with power, seduction and offered dark promises of a purpose. She offered her soul to Lilith and with it learned to harness her own power. A power that in the years past sat dormant, whispering words that once unsettled her. Now she knew that they were words of comfort, something inside more than life could ever offer.
She had not known the price it would cost her and how the word ‘witch’ was as damned as it was powerful. Fear had burned Lilith, hate and anger of those she once called friends had lit the bonfire. Tied to a stake, Lilith had burned and fell as ash in front of her. As her tears fell, she ran. She had kept running and now she was here, at the rocks of the western moors. Lightning flared overhead, thunder shook the ground beneath her bare feet. The voices in the wind screamed louder, words of revenge, words of reckoning. They would soon find out how wicked she could be.
Gorgeous pictures, and the writing is amazing. You have a wonderful way with words, and…I’m jealous of your atmospheres hehe! x
This is where the visits to ruined castles and standing stones led to!!!!
Wow Wavey – This is by far my favourite so far. The others were good, but this one has left me wanting to scream “Finish this story!” Make it longer dude. What a great start !!
Whoa, this is good too. If you’re wondering who I am btw I’m David’s son. (That’s David ‘Moose’ Campion.)