Dark Worlds
Posted: Sun Mar 10, 2013 3:05 pm
Somewhere in Time
The silty sand and Cheval de fries defenses blurred, serpentine trails of yellowy light stretched out towards him.
He allowed himself to fall, a thousand images bombarded his psyche before he regained his sight.
The sky of course was grey, the usual malaise prevalent, he trotted up the wide stone steps, unlocked the heavy wooden door and entered.
The mansion was build in the style and fashion of some great Grecian or medieval keep, yellow sandstone walls, mock antiquated woodwork and Mediterranean tile floors.
He had met its owner Gordan Tremaine at a number of museum functions, a slightly annoying man of considerable business acumen, but relatively harmless.
On the other side of the mirror Tremaine started, looked up from his armchair and amusingly shouted that any ghosts were trespassing and to keep the noise down, he was trying to read.
Vincent smiled actually he quite liked Tremaine, there seemed to be a sense of humor, perhaps it was the businessman’s solitary nature, four wives later it seemed that he preferred his own company.
He waited until Tremaine had settled back into his book and reached across, as far as he knew only he could reach between, crossing the mirror and interacting with the world of color.
In this case ignoring the sparks that flared over his arm he lifted the decanter of brandy and brought it across, an action he repeated to obtain a glass.
It was good expensive stuff warming as it tickled down, he breathed out, centering himself and banishing the script appearing at the edges of his vision, recently he’d learned some techniques that allowed him to delay their onset.
That crazy elf had proved useful for something, his strange songs had provided some helpful inspiration.
Pouring himself another, he then tensed and pushed the decanter back across the mirror, he winced as the glass chinked noisily on its silver tray, he quickly withdrew his hand the mirror closing back into a grey hazy wall.
Tremaine had risen from his chair, cautiously he approached the drinks cabinet and then looked suspiciously at the brandy “Damn ghosts” he muttered, however Vincent was one of the few who could hear across the mirror.
Standing next to each other Tremaine was in reality a world away, he appeared as a grey smudge bearing the vague characteristics of a person, inhabitants of the dark Smoking Mirror would only see him as such and very rarely be able to affect him.
In most situations the inhabitants of each world saw each other as ghostly blurs, like something from a Edvard Munch painting, only rare individuals had the gift to look through.
From the corner of his eye he saw the grey smudge paintings begin to run, as if the very paint and image contained were flowing into the room, coalescing into a figure.
“You have returned!” it said
“How observant” Vincent replied caustically
“How was your journey” it continued, Vincent noted that the shadowy furniture of this side had started to animate and wander around, which was quite normal
“Many stops, the visions constant” he replied wearily “What of here?” he added
“The walls have been thick, the prowlers howl their frustration, attacks upon the shades have been many, the pale ones have had to hide themselves very well, it has been bad”
Vincent nodded, he hated this place but yet was drawn to it, and for that he hated it, not a day passed where he try to abandon his visits, yet stupid loyalty drew him back.
His respite was travelling to the other worlds at least he could escape the perpetually misery of The Smoking Mirror, the weight of which he felt even on the other side.
He knocked back the second glass and shuddered with the welcome warmth.
“Grandmother wishes to see you”
“The Atwell creature?” he responded warily
“The same” the white shade replied
He silently cursed how had the creature leaned of him, as if hearing his thoughts the shade answered “The museum mirror” it stated
Vincent looked puzzled “What of it”
“You will need to see for yourself” it replied, Vincent moved his leg to avoid the shambling motion of an ambulatory footstool.
The silty sand and Cheval de fries defenses blurred, serpentine trails of yellowy light stretched out towards him.
He allowed himself to fall, a thousand images bombarded his psyche before he regained his sight.
The sky of course was grey, the usual malaise prevalent, he trotted up the wide stone steps, unlocked the heavy wooden door and entered.
The mansion was build in the style and fashion of some great Grecian or medieval keep, yellow sandstone walls, mock antiquated woodwork and Mediterranean tile floors.
He had met its owner Gordan Tremaine at a number of museum functions, a slightly annoying man of considerable business acumen, but relatively harmless.
On the other side of the mirror Tremaine started, looked up from his armchair and amusingly shouted that any ghosts were trespassing and to keep the noise down, he was trying to read.
Vincent smiled actually he quite liked Tremaine, there seemed to be a sense of humor, perhaps it was the businessman’s solitary nature, four wives later it seemed that he preferred his own company.
He waited until Tremaine had settled back into his book and reached across, as far as he knew only he could reach between, crossing the mirror and interacting with the world of color.
In this case ignoring the sparks that flared over his arm he lifted the decanter of brandy and brought it across, an action he repeated to obtain a glass.
It was good expensive stuff warming as it tickled down, he breathed out, centering himself and banishing the script appearing at the edges of his vision, recently he’d learned some techniques that allowed him to delay their onset.
That crazy elf had proved useful for something, his strange songs had provided some helpful inspiration.
Pouring himself another, he then tensed and pushed the decanter back across the mirror, he winced as the glass chinked noisily on its silver tray, he quickly withdrew his hand the mirror closing back into a grey hazy wall.
Tremaine had risen from his chair, cautiously he approached the drinks cabinet and then looked suspiciously at the brandy “Damn ghosts” he muttered, however Vincent was one of the few who could hear across the mirror.
Standing next to each other Tremaine was in reality a world away, he appeared as a grey smudge bearing the vague characteristics of a person, inhabitants of the dark Smoking Mirror would only see him as such and very rarely be able to affect him.
In most situations the inhabitants of each world saw each other as ghostly blurs, like something from a Edvard Munch painting, only rare individuals had the gift to look through.
From the corner of his eye he saw the grey smudge paintings begin to run, as if the very paint and image contained were flowing into the room, coalescing into a figure.
“You have returned!” it said
“How observant” Vincent replied caustically
“How was your journey” it continued, Vincent noted that the shadowy furniture of this side had started to animate and wander around, which was quite normal
“Many stops, the visions constant” he replied wearily “What of here?” he added
“The walls have been thick, the prowlers howl their frustration, attacks upon the shades have been many, the pale ones have had to hide themselves very well, it has been bad”
Vincent nodded, he hated this place but yet was drawn to it, and for that he hated it, not a day passed where he try to abandon his visits, yet stupid loyalty drew him back.
His respite was travelling to the other worlds at least he could escape the perpetually misery of The Smoking Mirror, the weight of which he felt even on the other side.
He knocked back the second glass and shuddered with the welcome warmth.
“Grandmother wishes to see you”
“The Atwell creature?” he responded warily
“The same” the white shade replied
He silently cursed how had the creature leaned of him, as if hearing his thoughts the shade answered “The museum mirror” it stated
Vincent looked puzzled “What of it”
“You will need to see for yourself” it replied, Vincent moved his leg to avoid the shambling motion of an ambulatory footstool.