Post by EntropyKnight on Jan 21, 2016 0:28:04 GMT
Thread Music:Reasoning
'Look.'
The forest seemed to stretch for eternity, trees sat as silent sentries guarding a secret known only to them. Shadows danced against every facet of light, weaving in and out of reality an endless number of times. Stars twinkled overhead, pinpricks of light on a nocturne backdrop. The world was laid out, its soul bared for those who cared enough to look.
'Listen.'
Rain fell. It touched down so softly that if one did not take the time to open their senses they'd never know of the impending precipitation above them. Leaves fell, ruffled by some unseen creature scampering through the night. Wait. Demantoid took a breath. That's what they were looking for, what they were listening for. There was nothing around that could be seen; there were no creatures making noise, which begs the question: what ruffled the leaves?
"Question: Why do we speak aloud when we know we're alone?" Demantoid's voice hung in the air for a moment, its haunting lilt meshing well with the dreary scenery. The answer came, eventually, not aloud but from within Demantoid's own head.
'Because we know we aren't.' Demantoid took another breath before turning to observe what lay behind them: a path stretched ahead of them ever so tentatively. Greenery twisted and coiled, obscuring it as though it hadn't been walked in ages; Demantoid knew, somehow Demantoid had always known that this path was theirs to walk...wherever it may lead. They touched a hand to their head. That memory hadn't always been there, had it? The feeling passed quickly though. Of course the memory had always been there. It was a memory after all. Demantoid took a step, breathed deep and started down the path.
"Perhaps fear is a constant passenger, then."
The path disappeared behind them.
One hour, one day, one century; time had blurred to a standstill. Demantoid had walked the path faithfully and their reward proved to hold as many questions as the journey itself. Before them was a clearing, an old mansion resting in the middle. That in itself was not interesting. The thing that caught Demantoid's eye was the surrounding area. Nestled around the circular clearing was a seemingly endless number of paths, ending here like rivers emptying into the sea. Demantoid turned to look at the path they had walked. Greenery closed around it, eliminating every trace there had ever been a path, as this happened, Demantoid's own memory of how they got to the clearing vanished. Only a strong urge to enter the mansion remained, and so they acted on it, stepping toward the house and whatever fate may await them.
'Look.'
The forest seemed to stretch for eternity, trees sat as silent sentries guarding a secret known only to them. Shadows danced against every facet of light, weaving in and out of reality an endless number of times. Stars twinkled overhead, pinpricks of light on a nocturne backdrop. The world was laid out, its soul bared for those who cared enough to look.
'Listen.'
Rain fell. It touched down so softly that if one did not take the time to open their senses they'd never know of the impending precipitation above them. Leaves fell, ruffled by some unseen creature scampering through the night. Wait. Demantoid took a breath. That's what they were looking for, what they were listening for. There was nothing around that could be seen; there were no creatures making noise, which begs the question: what ruffled the leaves?
"Question: Why do we speak aloud when we know we're alone?" Demantoid's voice hung in the air for a moment, its haunting lilt meshing well with the dreary scenery. The answer came, eventually, not aloud but from within Demantoid's own head.
'Because we know we aren't.' Demantoid took another breath before turning to observe what lay behind them: a path stretched ahead of them ever so tentatively. Greenery twisted and coiled, obscuring it as though it hadn't been walked in ages; Demantoid knew, somehow Demantoid had always known that this path was theirs to walk...wherever it may lead. They touched a hand to their head. That memory hadn't always been there, had it? The feeling passed quickly though. Of course the memory had always been there. It was a memory after all. Demantoid took a step, breathed deep and started down the path.
"Perhaps fear is a constant passenger, then."
The path disappeared behind them.
One hour, one day, one century; time had blurred to a standstill. Demantoid had walked the path faithfully and their reward proved to hold as many questions as the journey itself. Before them was a clearing, an old mansion resting in the middle. That in itself was not interesting. The thing that caught Demantoid's eye was the surrounding area. Nestled around the circular clearing was a seemingly endless number of paths, ending here like rivers emptying into the sea. Demantoid turned to look at the path they had walked. Greenery closed around it, eliminating every trace there had ever been a path, as this happened, Demantoid's own memory of how they got to the clearing vanished. Only a strong urge to enter the mansion remained, and so they acted on it, stepping toward the house and whatever fate may await them.