The Empty Mirror

Chapter 33: Sinfulness

On the rib-like flanks of its abdomen, gills unfurl, slimy, twisted, dangling structures that bear witness to the abyssal darkness. Their appearance is an amalgam of writhing tentacles and gelatinous membranes, their dark, dull colour reflecting the absence of light in the deep sea. The operculums that guard these grotesque formations are like thresholds to a watery underworld. Jagged-edged and covered with algae, they exude a greasy substance that emanates an indescribable stench, a mixture of marine rot and putrefaction.

When parsimoniously opened, they reveal a dark, pulsating interior, where the gills jerk in a grotesque frenzy, as if dancing to a nostalgic tune. Every breath this creature takes emits a dull, heart-rending sound, as if the ocean itself were sighing in despair at its presence. In its head, devoid of eyes and life, is reflected the abyss of existence, a reminder that in the darkest depths of the waters, beauty fades and only desolation and corruption persist.

The creature's ganglia writhe and contort in a feast of deformity. Two reptilian legs, like weather-beaten roots in dark, damp soil, emerge from the shadows at the sides of its torso. The scales, rough and worn, are covered with a viscous mucus that exhales a stench of degradation.

The creature's claws, sharpened like mouldy guillotine blades, arch backwards, dripping a dark, viscous substance that looks more like an amalgam of poison and pus than a vital fluid. The creature's fingernails are the very epitome of nightmare, long and crooked like daggers forged by evil itself. Its surface is wreathed in a veil of filth and gangrenous flesh, while tiny traces of dried blood are glimpsed between the cracks.

Each nail is a testament to the inherent rawness of nature, with sharp points that seem eager to plunge into the flesh of any unfortunate enough to cross their path. Each movement of these disturbing limbs emanates a dull, grotesque sound, like the final throes of a dying monster emerging from the abyssal depths of the earth.

As I stared at it in terror, unable to make out the underside of its hulking, elongated body, it commanded a presence even more eerie than the giant insect. It seemed to search my soul, yet it remained static, as if it possessed the power to rip me in two at will. Its reptilian-like legs, armed with sharp claws, hinted at latent danger, though its gentle demeanour revealed no hostility.

Suddenly, from its abdomen, in a carnal passageway that evoked the tunnels of the gums, it began to extract with the nails of its paws what appeared to be a stomach. Meticulously, he deformed the organ as he manipulated it.

Its twisted shape was reminiscent of a bloated sack, tinged with shades of dark purple and speckled with blue veins that snaked across its surface. A mucous membrane lined the walls, dripping a sticky, viscous substance with a pungent, lurid stench. The folds and creases of its lining formed a grotesque labyrinth where food scraps decomposed in a macabre digestive process.

Whatever phantoms presented themselves to it mattered little, as gases and liquids bubbled and churned with a nauseating symphony. This repulsive organ, hidden but present in its influence, held the darkest secrets of the human body, bearing silent witness to the excesses and indulgences of mankind.

Such was the disfigurement of its stomach that my being, with my heart in my throat, longed to flee from its proximity, as if every further glance at this creature plunged me deeper into the abyss of horror. Among all the scenes witnessed, this figure was the one that hurt me the most, not in the physical, but in the formless liquefaction of my mind.

On the verge of insanity, as I hunched like a witch and crawled through the gardens, her wails echoed like evil echoes behind me. Suddenly, I sensed her drowning, plunging back into the waters, as if the right moment to consummate my horror had not yet come, intent on devouring me alive in the bowels of her stomach.

The beast lay submerged in the waters, but its pursuit would persist, leaving my intestines in my mouth. Perhaps its intention was not to kill me, but its viciousness had caused my reason to collapse, bringing me to the brink of hysterical laughter, on the verge of drowning in the pestilent waters, amidst the wreckage of my sanity. I recalled the words and events of that day in Ace of Wands, what really happened before I reached the ferry, before I was imprisoned in this agonising nightmare.

A boar, with a portly countenance, short, obese limbs, an elongated snout adorned with prominent tusks, loomed before my eyes like a giant among the horrors of the forest. What was revealed to me, however, far exceeded any imaginable expectations.

This unfortunate event occurred after my release from the anomaly known as Ace of Wands. I emerged from the castle under a cloudy sky that seemed to threaten to collapse over my head, as darkness enveloped the forest and a cacophony of guttural sounds assaulted my senses. My eyes lifted to the black clouds that covered the face of the earth, like messengers of an impending storm. At that precise moment, I seemed to have escaped from the grasp of the anomaly that dominated the forest, freeing me from its inexorable law of doom.

Stolen story; please report.

After walking for what could have been minutes or perhaps hours, the glare of the declining sun gave way to the glare of the stars and an ominous moon, lurking like a menacing satellite. It was then that, among the twisted trees, I caught a glimpse of a construction defying the inevitability of the path, the slope and the lake: a hut.

In the deepest recesses of the forest stood this dwelling, rising as if it were a gift from the earth itself. Its walls, interwoven with twisted trunks and branches, rose in an uneven drama towards the green firmament that filtered through the treetops. The thatched roof, eaten away by the passage of time and the onslaught of weather, leaned to one side as if surrendered to the weight of decades.

Through a single window, just a jagged hole in the weathered wood, the yellowish light of a lantern streamed in, casting whimsical shadow patterns on the walls of the hut. Around the dwelling, a wild garden of grasses and wildflowers struggled its way through the roots of the trees, as if it longed to reclaim this corner of civilisation in the midst of the vast and majestic forest.

With cautious steps and ready to wield my knife with my left hand, I approached the entrance. The scene was unlike anything I had seen before. The shadows within the house, those silhouettes, did not resemble the amorphous entities of the forest or the pale ghouls within the domain of Ace of Wands.

They looked like human figures, without distortion or distortion caused by the anomaly of the forest. He suspected that they were common souls dwelling on the outskirts of the forest, for it would not be wise to venture deep into the grove to erect a hut which, perhaps, housed a home.

The chimney rose from the hut like a column of greyish stone, erect and stout against the backdrop of lofty leafy trees. Its irregular shape rose above the thatched roof, ascending towards the firmament like a silent witness to the warmth and life that was bubbling inside the dwelling.

The stones that made it up, worn by time and blackened by smoke, interlocked in an organic pattern, as if they had been arranged by nature's own hand. Here and there, moss and lichen clung to the crevices, adding a touch of greenery to the greyish surface.

From the distant vantage point, smoke rose in slow spirals from the mouth of the chimney, weaving through the shadows of the grove before fading into the firmament. The scent of burning wood and spices permeated the air, carrying with it the echo of the daily routine that unfolded inside the hut, a constant reminder that, even in the farthest reaches of the forest, the hearth finds its abode where the flame flickers. The weathered wooden door, barely more than a rudimentary threshold covered with moss and lichen, then rattled with rhythmic knocking; shortly, footsteps sounded and the door creaked open with a wailing creak, revealing the interior of the enclosure.

Inside, the earthen floor was masked by a blanket of parched leaves and branches that rustled with every step, though it still held a faded wooden structure at its base. In one corner, a stone fireplace exhaled a welcoming smell of burning wood and dried herbs.

In the doorway a man emerged, remarkable for his above-average height, though his build was lean and somewhat ungainly, perhaps the product of long days of physical labour. His countenance, furrowed with lines of restlessness and fatigue, showed pronounced cheekbones and an angular jaw with a short, unkempt beard though kept in a presentable state, denoting an existence of struggle and sacrifice. His eyes, fatigued but piercing, reflected a mixture of steadfastness and resignation to life's challenges.

As for his clothing, he wore the simple, worn clothes of someone struggling to survive in an unequal society. A brownish-coloured jacket, made of rough fabric and patched in several places, barely managed to fit over his slender torso. Underneath, a yellowish, faded shirt and a faded dark grey waistcoat completed his modest attire. His grey trousers, tarnished by wear and with patches at the knees, exposed long, sinewy legs, familiar from hard work. On his feet, earthy grey shoes, worn and leaky, were mute witnesses. Despite his humble appearance, his erect bearing and steady gaze betrayed a man of dignity and strength.

"Miss... how can this be?" - He inquired in a gruff voice, while his countenance reflected astonishment and concern.

"I saw the gleam of the lantern through the window..." - I replied with a weary gesture.

"Please come this way," said the man, gently stepping aside to facilitate my entrance.

With hesitant steps I crossed the threshold and entered the hut with the man. I paused for a few moments to contemplate the interior of the humble dwelling. The furniture, crude but useful, was skilfully carved by hand. A rough-hewn wooden table stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs worn by toil and the passing of time. On the walls, makeshift shelves held a collection of cast-iron cooking utensils and containers of homemade preserves.

There were three seats in all, and without clear distinction, there were two beds of rough, worn wood, with exposed joints and probably a little jarring when moved. They were devoid of ornamentation or frills. The mattresses, stuffed with straw or similar material, were worn and warped from prolonged use, providing little comfort. Bedding, if any, was sparse and modest, perhaps only a rough, threadbare blanket that offered little shelter. They were functional but unwelcoming beds, reflecting the stark reality of those who did not have the means to indulge in more ostentatious luxuries.

There was little to spare. The chimney, erected of worn, smoke-blackened bricks, had a rustic, weathered appearance. Although relatively modest in size in contrast to the fireplaces of larger, more sumptuous residences, it still provided warmth and comfort to its dwellers. The hearth of the fireplace, framed by a rusted iron frame, bore signs of continuous use, with scorch marks and accumulated soot. On the mantel rested a few simple objects, such as melted candles, but nothing lavish.

In the centre of the room rested an oil lamp, carefully crafted from modest materials such as metal and glass. Its design, devoid of superfluous ornamentation, exhibited austere functionality. The oil tank, forged from brass or iron, blended harmoniously with the base of the lamp, housing a tiny wick which, when lit, gave off a flickering flame. This, flickering modestly, discreetly illuminated the room, creating an atmosphere that, while not ostentatious, exuded warmth.

Although compared to the luxurious gas or electric luminaries of the upper strata, the oil lamp might seem humble, it was revered for its reliability and affordability. Its glow, though not as dazzling as that of other light sources, was sufficient for evening activities such as reading or simply sharing moments of conversation in the half-light.