Post by Quill on Sept 28, 2011 22:16:10 GMT -5
Working title. More worthless writings. This is that novel I was telling you guys about, with Nevermore. Here's a prologue that has nothing to do with anything. Enjoy.
Prologue
He had pored over the dusty old volumes for hours now, long past his normal schedule and well into the night- and why not? The ancient tomes were his only comfort, his only escape from the hell that had become his life. Sleep pulled at him, and he had merely begun to rest his eyes a moment, lulled by the faint pattering of rain on the window. A faint tapping startled him awake, and he looked towards the door of the study in surprise. “A visitor?” he mused to himself. “At this hour?” Wild, fearful thoughts pulled at his mind, thoughts of ghosts and evil creatures come for him in the night, and he chased them away, muttering. “Just a visitor,” he insisted, hoping the assurance would rid himself of the notions. “Just a visitor, that’s all.”
Still the thoughts persisted, warping the rustling silk curtains into phantoms, and he felt his heart quicken in his chest, his breath coming more quickly. “Just some visitor,” he insisted to himself, and the ghouls became curtains once more. “Some visitor, knocking at my door.” It really was much too late- his weary, burdened mind was making ghosts out of thin air. The soft tapping continued
He shuffled wearily to the heavy oak door, speaking through it, trying to explain to his sudden visitor before seeing their face.. “I beg your pardon sir- or madam. I was just beginning to doze off when you arrived, and your knock startled me away. You’ll have to forgive--” He opened the door and trailed off, finding in bewilderment that he was speaking to thin air. He peered down the hall, eyes straining in the gloom. “Hello?” He called out, wondering who could have knocked so softly and fled so quickly, and why. A thought possessed him- a strange, frightening, impossible, beautiful, hopeful thought possessed him. He whispered her name to the darkness, questioning, fearful, uncertain.
The name came back to him as a sigh, an echo, not an answer but a mirrored question. He closed the door and turned back into the study, something painful and wonderful and distant and much too close searing within him. The tapping came again, and its source was clearer this time. He raised his head. “The window now,” he murmured. “I’ll just give a look—it’s only the wind,” he scolded himself. “Just the wind!” He went to the window and threw it open, letting the rain into the musty office, along with a startling guest.
It moved in with a grace he had never seen before, as if the rain were a shower of rose petals across the velvet carpet to announce its entrance, its sleek, droplet-flecked wings wrapped about it like a cape. It did not acknowledge him in the slightest, ruffling water from its wings and taking flight, landing neatly atop a marble bust of Athena set on a shelf above the door. It settled itself, perched, and sat, and did not move.
Something about the bird tickled him- perhaps the way it carried itself, or its too-serious expression, but he couldn’t help but smile at it. “Well, aren’t you a sight,” he chuckled. “With a look like that you must be royalty of a sort, eh Sir Raven? Come, let’s have a name.” To his greatest surprise, the bird responded.
“Nevermore.”
He stared at it, startled by how plainly it had spoken. Of course, it was a meaningless response, but a response nonetheless. It was so bizarre to hear such an answer from a bird- surely no man had ever seen a bird perched on a marble bust upon his door, and surely no man had ever seen a bird or beast with a name like ‘Nevermore’. He watched it for a while, waiting for it to speak again, but it did not; it spoke the word so clearly and plainly, as if it had put its entire being into that single word, but after it made no move to speak again, showing no intention to move from its current perch. He sighed and waved a hand dismissively, sadly. “Others have gone before you, Sir. Surely by morning you will leave me too, as they all have flown before.”
Then the bird spoke again. “Nevermore.”
He looked to the bird again, startled by how perfect the response had been, so quick and certain. He chuckled faintly. “Of course it’s just a recitation,” he mused softly, watching the bird watch him. “Some unhappy owner repeating himself endlessly until the bird could say nothing else. Nothing but ‘never, nevermore’.”
Still, the bird brought out a smile in him, and he slowly sank into the velvet-lined chair across from the door, letting his thoughts wander and shift about into strange, frightening places. The raven watched him with dark, fearsome eyes, glittering with a passion he had never seen before. What did it mean? He questioned the bird in his thoughts. Perhaps this was no lost pet come to him by mistake. He met the bird’s gaze, his expression becoming solemn and tight. The air in the study was growing heavy and unpleasant, thick with incense and smoke he had not burned, thick with memories and fears and worries and passionate embers still burning despite being doused long ago. “Wretch,” he spat at the bird, madness creeping at the edges of his mind. “You...were sent to me! Sent by God, a God, any God- to aid me! Take these memories, take her from my mind! Take her from me so I can be in peace again.”
The bird’s expression did not change. It spoke calmly, clearly, plainly, leaving no room for argument or refutation. “Nevermore.”
He was out of his chair, his eyes burning, desperate, angry, hurt, emotions he couldn’t begin to identify or describe. “Prophet!” he cried, his voice shrill. “You are a prophet, whether you be a demon or a bird! You were sent here, by storm or by monstrous master! Tell me, is there a respite for me? Can I ever find a relief for this burning in my heart?”
He crumpled as the bird spoke the damned word again. “Nevermore.”
“Prophet,” he moaned again, fully consumed by his emotions, a red haze across his vision. “You are a prophet, whether you’re demon or...or bird! Tell me, tell me in the name of our God...will I see her? Will I ever again hold her in my arms, touch her face, see her smile?”
The bird spoke, and his heart tore itself apart. “Nevermore.”
“That’s enough!” he snarled, on his feet in an instant. “That ends our meeting! Go back through the black shroud of night you flew in from! Leave nothing here, not a single feather, not one shred of evidence of your lies here! Leave me to my loneliness! Get off that bust above my door! Take your beak out of my heart and get yourself away from my door!”
And the bird responded, “Nevermore.”
“Always the heartbroken ones, huh?”
“Of course. They’re so confused, so vulnerable. All those emotions out there for the world to see- hurt, fear, rage, denial, sadness, hope...It’s euphoric, in its own way.”
“If you say so, boss.”
Prologue
He had pored over the dusty old volumes for hours now, long past his normal schedule and well into the night- and why not? The ancient tomes were his only comfort, his only escape from the hell that had become his life. Sleep pulled at him, and he had merely begun to rest his eyes a moment, lulled by the faint pattering of rain on the window. A faint tapping startled him awake, and he looked towards the door of the study in surprise. “A visitor?” he mused to himself. “At this hour?” Wild, fearful thoughts pulled at his mind, thoughts of ghosts and evil creatures come for him in the night, and he chased them away, muttering. “Just a visitor,” he insisted, hoping the assurance would rid himself of the notions. “Just a visitor, that’s all.”
Still the thoughts persisted, warping the rustling silk curtains into phantoms, and he felt his heart quicken in his chest, his breath coming more quickly. “Just some visitor,” he insisted to himself, and the ghouls became curtains once more. “Some visitor, knocking at my door.” It really was much too late- his weary, burdened mind was making ghosts out of thin air. The soft tapping continued
He shuffled wearily to the heavy oak door, speaking through it, trying to explain to his sudden visitor before seeing their face.. “I beg your pardon sir- or madam. I was just beginning to doze off when you arrived, and your knock startled me away. You’ll have to forgive--” He opened the door and trailed off, finding in bewilderment that he was speaking to thin air. He peered down the hall, eyes straining in the gloom. “Hello?” He called out, wondering who could have knocked so softly and fled so quickly, and why. A thought possessed him- a strange, frightening, impossible, beautiful, hopeful thought possessed him. He whispered her name to the darkness, questioning, fearful, uncertain.
The name came back to him as a sigh, an echo, not an answer but a mirrored question. He closed the door and turned back into the study, something painful and wonderful and distant and much too close searing within him. The tapping came again, and its source was clearer this time. He raised his head. “The window now,” he murmured. “I’ll just give a look—it’s only the wind,” he scolded himself. “Just the wind!” He went to the window and threw it open, letting the rain into the musty office, along with a startling guest.
It moved in with a grace he had never seen before, as if the rain were a shower of rose petals across the velvet carpet to announce its entrance, its sleek, droplet-flecked wings wrapped about it like a cape. It did not acknowledge him in the slightest, ruffling water from its wings and taking flight, landing neatly atop a marble bust of Athena set on a shelf above the door. It settled itself, perched, and sat, and did not move.
Something about the bird tickled him- perhaps the way it carried itself, or its too-serious expression, but he couldn’t help but smile at it. “Well, aren’t you a sight,” he chuckled. “With a look like that you must be royalty of a sort, eh Sir Raven? Come, let’s have a name.” To his greatest surprise, the bird responded.
“Nevermore.”
He stared at it, startled by how plainly it had spoken. Of course, it was a meaningless response, but a response nonetheless. It was so bizarre to hear such an answer from a bird- surely no man had ever seen a bird perched on a marble bust upon his door, and surely no man had ever seen a bird or beast with a name like ‘Nevermore’. He watched it for a while, waiting for it to speak again, but it did not; it spoke the word so clearly and plainly, as if it had put its entire being into that single word, but after it made no move to speak again, showing no intention to move from its current perch. He sighed and waved a hand dismissively, sadly. “Others have gone before you, Sir. Surely by morning you will leave me too, as they all have flown before.”
Then the bird spoke again. “Nevermore.”
He looked to the bird again, startled by how perfect the response had been, so quick and certain. He chuckled faintly. “Of course it’s just a recitation,” he mused softly, watching the bird watch him. “Some unhappy owner repeating himself endlessly until the bird could say nothing else. Nothing but ‘never, nevermore’.”
Still, the bird brought out a smile in him, and he slowly sank into the velvet-lined chair across from the door, letting his thoughts wander and shift about into strange, frightening places. The raven watched him with dark, fearsome eyes, glittering with a passion he had never seen before. What did it mean? He questioned the bird in his thoughts. Perhaps this was no lost pet come to him by mistake. He met the bird’s gaze, his expression becoming solemn and tight. The air in the study was growing heavy and unpleasant, thick with incense and smoke he had not burned, thick with memories and fears and worries and passionate embers still burning despite being doused long ago. “Wretch,” he spat at the bird, madness creeping at the edges of his mind. “You...were sent to me! Sent by God, a God, any God- to aid me! Take these memories, take her from my mind! Take her from me so I can be in peace again.”
The bird’s expression did not change. It spoke calmly, clearly, plainly, leaving no room for argument or refutation. “Nevermore.”
He was out of his chair, his eyes burning, desperate, angry, hurt, emotions he couldn’t begin to identify or describe. “Prophet!” he cried, his voice shrill. “You are a prophet, whether you be a demon or a bird! You were sent here, by storm or by monstrous master! Tell me, is there a respite for me? Can I ever find a relief for this burning in my heart?”
He crumpled as the bird spoke the damned word again. “Nevermore.”
“Prophet,” he moaned again, fully consumed by his emotions, a red haze across his vision. “You are a prophet, whether you’re demon or...or bird! Tell me, tell me in the name of our God...will I see her? Will I ever again hold her in my arms, touch her face, see her smile?”
The bird spoke, and his heart tore itself apart. “Nevermore.”
“That’s enough!” he snarled, on his feet in an instant. “That ends our meeting! Go back through the black shroud of night you flew in from! Leave nothing here, not a single feather, not one shred of evidence of your lies here! Leave me to my loneliness! Get off that bust above my door! Take your beak out of my heart and get yourself away from my door!”
And the bird responded, “Nevermore.”
xXx
“Always the heartbroken ones, huh?”
“Of course. They’re so confused, so vulnerable. All those emotions out there for the world to see- hurt, fear, rage, denial, sadness, hope...It’s euphoric, in its own way.”
“If you say so, boss.”
