The Empty Mirror
Chapter 73: Loss of innocence
In the inexorable passage of centuries, not mere moments but entire epochs slipped away from those nefarious events that still dwell as gloomy spectres in the unfathomable abysses of my memory. Reliving those moments, I found myself once more drawn to the shores of the lake, as if malevolent entities were instigating me from its shadowy depths. I felt a dominant urgency, an unpostponable call to roast the flesh of the noble boar to preserve its pure essence. With diligence, I prepared some select viands, placing them with utmost care over the crackling of the lively flames. My appetite was restrained, fully aware of the need to ration such a gloomy feast prudently, as it was not about vulgar repulsive insects. However, my diligences were in vain against the inexorable corruption of the flesh, which was besieged by necrophagous insects that, acting as precursors of decomposition, launched themselves onto it with relentless avidity. Before such a woeful event was consummated, I was forced to rescue the meat from the watery jaws, distancing it from its deathly stupor.
In the twilight of days, the flesh did not extend its being for a long era, but in that gloomy moment it became my most precious consort for survival. By the ingestion of such a delicacy, I revived my spirits, although now I am assaulted by a feeling of falsity, harbouring pity for the being that succumbed by my hand, and considering the events in Hanging Gardens as a trivial course devoid of essence. In the bosom of such helplessness, I dedicated the next two days to the collection of firewood, pursuing the trail of wilted branches and stripped leaves that have succumbed to fleeting and ruthless existence. Each explosion under my feet and each murmur of the air among the groves resonates in the soul, exacerbating my anxiety and unleashing a primordial terror that has taken root in my spirit, with the perpetual fear of the vileness of the gardens. In this cluster of opposing feelings, dread and aversion concoct a macabre choreography that haunts me with throwing me into the abysses of madness, like a warrior after combat. The forest, once a mere spectator, comes to life, whispering to me inscrutable arcana that drag me into a vortex of shadow, yearning for the protection of the staff. With tireless tenacity, I endeavoured to gather firm and durable stones that would instil a hint of firmness and tranquillity in the midst of the chaotic collapse that surrounded me.
The fruits of the oak tree, which pride themselves on being robust and eternal, are nothing but an ephemeral interlude in the everlasting dance of the trees, a fleeting chimera that fades away leaving behind nothing more than a fleeting trail. Although in my possession I only count a few mushrooms, scarce and humble, their virtue to sprout in the gloom and bloom among the putrefaction gives them an unusual value in my eyes, challenging the gloomy darkness that surrounds them, in contrast to the nature of the monument... With burning zeal I dedicated myself to the laborious task of cooking, longing to metamorphose the clay into exquisite ceramics, reminiscing about the dawn of this odyssey, and such a task has been consummated without shocks or adversities that would cloud my path. The fruit of my labour has begotten a pristine vessel, worthy of housing viands, ready and prepared to perform its divine duty. The mushrooms, which at this moment do not require use, find shelter in the belly of the aforementioned vessel, waiting with serene patience for the destiny that awaits them.
The castle, with its sinister majesty, manifested itself as the supreme fortress to guard such esteemed possessions, impervious to any vestige of fear or danger that dared to prowl from the outside. In my solitary and repeated visitations to this castle, I sought ephemeral relief and the occasion to share my adventures with that enigmatic entity that lay in its depths, narratives of battles and nightmares... However, my dear one seemed to show an inexorable disinterest, submerged in an unshakeable apathy that did not falter in the face of the slightest display of mercy. I have tried in vain to regale him with ambrosia, but he refused my gift with a resounding negative, fearful of starvation, wrapped in an alarming indifference that froze the spirit. In one of such encounters, with increasing anxiety invading my being, I felt compelled to approach the mysterious dweller who remained there. Despite my profound bewilderment and the clumsy words that escaped from my lips, overwhelmed by the possibility of dialoguing with someone after countless tribulations, an unusual event occurred: the individual detached himself from his accustomed immobility, breaking his usual stupor. His steps, enigmatically sure yet full of perplexity, guided him towards me in the gloom, and his left hand, with a disturbing subtlety, caressed my face gently while our gazes intertwined in a disconcerting encounter.
With a measured and resonant voice, which echoed like a bronze bell, he pronounced those words that will resonate forever in the abyss of my mind: "Now I understand...". Such a revelation left me stunned, and, in a way, overwhelmed by a strange mix of fear and fascination. My voice, fragmented by the singularity of the moment, impelled me to abandon the scene hastily, seeking refuge in flight, longing to distance myself from the well of unknowns that those words had unveiled, three heads. It was an episode of great rarity, but I confess that in the midst of the fog of bewilderment, an intriguing emotion took hold of me. The true meaning of such an event escapes me, plunging me into an abyss of mystery and shock that will persist to the most hidden corners of my being. However, what I ardently desire to recount is the event that occurred in the shadows of yesterday. It is a story that ignites the thirst for knowledge, for it is imbued with a subtle and disturbing horror, which delves into the deepest depths of human understanding.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
As I ventured down the path, in search of resources that would illuminate an uncertain future, I perceived the faded presence of the anomaly named Ace of Wands, longing to commune with its essence, although the memory of the unfortunate crime of Two of Wands warned me of its unattainable nature. However, its disappearance was not absolute, but transmuted into a metamorphosis where the transition between spaces no longer seemed as clear as in times past, how much nostalgia in such a short span! The lack of this disturbing alteration, which I had assumed as an intrinsic part of my reality, dismayed me to the core, leaving a disturbing void and a perennial restlessness. I continued my advance through the dark forest, immersed in uncertainty, but my steps wandered without a precise destination. The landscape unfolded in a tangled cycle, surrounded by trees that seemed to mirror my own confusion. I found myself trapped in an oppressive scenario, destined to be a spectator of a phenomenon that defied all logic and reason, still fearing that those groves would come to life or that the vegetal reflux of nature would emerge from the earth. Submerged in an irremediable alienation, I penetrated the dark forest, where the shadows of the branches contorted and danced around me, mocking my figure. The moon, hidden behind sinister clouds, could barely project fleeting flashes of clarity through the tangled branches.
With an iron and unalterable resolution, my steps made their way through uncertainty, while my right hand gripped with vigour the primitive knife, which had always been my faithful companion, whose sharp blade seemed to vibrate with a breath of its own, beating with a malevolence that disturbed the soul. The residues of blood once spilled, which stained my attire, presented themselves as gloomy witnesses of my past acts, but they were ephemeral illusions, for the blood had been suspended in the ether next to that canary-toned dress, and the blood of the nightmare had not crossed back with me. With each stride I took, the forest seemed to elongate and contort, its branches like limbs of an abject and extrahuman entity, evoking the figure of an ivy. Exhausted, I finally arrived at the edge of a modest river... Its waters, placid and dark as the very abyss, were the sanctuary of an arcane and disturbing presence. The contemplation of that mysterious place plunged me into an amalgam of fascination and an ineffable dread, fearful that that river course was full of crystals. My senses plunged into a whirlwind of disbelief, while my intellect battled to distinguish between palpable reality and the domain of the incomprehensible. The river, discreet in its extension but endowed with an unfathomable depth, unfolded towards the unknown, losing itself in the abyssal shadows that diluted at the end.
Moved by a fervent desire for purification that emanated from the depths of my soul, I made the courageous decision to plunge into the mysterious waters of that river. I headed towards a large rock and perched on it, allowing my trembling and eager hands to take hold of the clear liquid to then slowly pour it over my crown. Each drop that grazed my epidermis seemed to have a bewitching effect, as if its very purity boasted the supernatural virtue of expunging the stains rooted within me, finally immersing me in a redemptive bath after suffering in Hanging Gardens, exorcising the torment that plagued me, or so it seemed. But, as the waters enveloped my silhouette, a disturbing sensation took hold of me. My lower limbs trembled delicately, like mute witnesses to a spectral entity that hinted at my consciousness. My hair, untamed and tangled, fell in dishevelled locks, partially hiding my pale and dismayed countenance. With caution and in an almost challenging gesture, my hands explored the texture of my skin, intruding into the folds of my anatomy with audacity... A whirlwind of antagonistic feelings was kindled within me, where the outburst and aversion danced a macabre waltz of opposites. It was an invasive trance that exhumed gloomy and sinful thoughts, a mixture of dark longings that caused me to blush and, at the same time, enveloped me in a labyrinth of perplexity.
My hands, with the grace of a morning breeze, traced my neck leisurely, while my nails, like lioness claws caressing their prey, left a trail of indescribable sensations. Then, with the delicacy of an artist sculpting his masterpiece, my hands settled upon my breasts, where fingers danced around my nipples, awakening sensations that defied even pain itself. Following the rhythm of a forbidden melody, my hands descended down my belly, exploring every inch of my being, until reaching the gateway to my most intimate desires. With the skill of a navigator in unknown waters, my fingers ventured into the sanctuary of my femininity, tracing circles and caresses that ignited the fire of passion. And thus, amidst murmured moans to the wind, I surrendered to the ecstasy of pleasure, exploring the recesses of my being with unbridled passion. With each thrust, the echo of ancient prohibitions faded away, and in its place, the purity of instinct rose triumphantly. In the end, exhausted yet fulfilled, I lay upon the forest floor, surrounded by nature that had been a silent witness to my surrender. In that moment, in the twilight's shadow, I felt in communion with the world, like a creature that had rediscovered its place in the fabric of the cosmos.
In the midst of this inner turmoil, a voice whispered sweetly, springing forth like an echo of my most hidden erotic thoughts: "Do not distress, darling..." That murmur seemed to arise from the depths of my being, nourishing with its dark seduction the lascivious desires that nestled in my soul. The blend of feelings was repulsive, and yet, the attraction it exerted was unavoidable, but it was the absence beneath the cloak of sex. I found myself trapped in a moral dilemma, debating within whether such behavior was genuinely perverse or if, perhaps, there existed some justification hidden within the recesses of my being. In the rushing river of waters and in the whirlpool of impure thoughts that besieged me, I found myself plunged into a crossroads of great significance. Confronted with my own fragility and shrouded by the threatening shadow of my conscience, I remained immersed in a complex labyrinth of introspection and self-discovery, challenging in its essence, although the fear of what it might reveal was great, the allure of discovering it was equally powerful, evoking misery on the edges of the forest. But it was that gaze... an intense and alarming crimson... Nevertheless, the sole cause of my longing for his presence was... that... a lustful impulse that pushed me towards the most profane abyss of my femininity.