tenebrae
intoxicated by madness,
I am in love with my sadness
I am in love with my sadness
At first glance the weather front was a bleak gray smudge wrapped about the mountain tops. It did not immediately look as if a terrible storm was bearing down upon the Arma mountain range. Yet as the afternoon wore on, Tenebrae noticed how the air grew cooler, the grey stone of the mountain grew dark, as if wet. The sky above became ever more stark as the weather pulled herself ever nearer.
By the time she reached the mountain Tenebrae was descending, flurries of snow had blown ahead of her, an innocent herald of what was to come. Swiftly a few flurries were replaced by a shower and then, in a startling matter of moments, a blizzard. Lightning crackled across the sky, the thunder booming as it set the mountain trembling with the reverberation of noise.
The Disciple persisted, for longer than was advisable. Yet the snow began to pile up, deeper than his heels at first, then when it reached his fetlocks, when root and stony dip was concealed by such a thick blanket of snow, Tenebrae knew he needed shelter from the storm. There were log cabins dotted about the mountain range. He knew their locations well, he had traversed the mountains as a young postulant and every day since. As such it was easy for him to know when the weather was simply too adverse to battle through.
The cabin stands a dark rectangular shadow upon the windswept corner of the mountain. Its door opens with am aged creak. It is cold in within the log cabin, but dry at least. Tenebrae moves first to light the fire and once it is roaring within the hearth, the fine plume of smoke drifting across the mountain, Tenebrae sets himself before it. His skin is damp, the melted snow sinking deep, even through his thicker winter coat. His shadows crawl the walls and dance in the firelight, telling stories across the dark walls. Stories of violence and love and loss.
Tenebrae ignores the hollow in his breast. He ignores how his ragged soul with its stolen pieces seem to chafe against his ribs. It would be a long, lonely night, he knows. The storm is large and the mountain too welcoming. He sighs, it was to be a long night alone with only his thoughts and regrets.
