Church
Ancient, grand, and heart-stopping.
The room is gloomy and open, its glossy floors reflecting the minute movements of dust motes. It stretches from corner to corner to corner, without ever really connecting, hemmed in only by dark, thick tapestries, which are robe-like and feel like the pelt of a great, magical beast. The walls, distant from each other, glow with gold imprints; they are lit up against the quiet darkness of the room.
Down the center of the floor flows a wide medieval carpet. Faded and aged, orange circles are large on the woven pattern and they stamp a path to the front of the chamber as somber markers. Two steps follow this; then the dais. It is an incomprehensible figure of art: a lake of blue gel bordering vague, heavenly bodies; flaring gold amongst ghostly shadows; twin rubies; at the center an immobile phoenix.
Despite the wafting nets of spider webs high in the dark rafters and the loud, forbidding echo of one's own footsteps, the presence of God looms all around in the cathedral. A certain mysticism enters into normal actions, and the slightest nervous cough becomes rough howling. The swallowed lump in one's throat becomes a consumption of some thick, unearthly draught. The pallid face of the man standing on the phoenix dais, whose features flicker in candlelight, transforms into that of an archangel, with eyes as deep and black and terrifying as any goblin's.
Prayer is fearful before God, and not without trembling; words fall from shaken lips as currents released from a dam. Shiver, it is over. Footsteps echo in the recesses of the cathedral, and the awed retreat back to a real, tangible world is made.
a church in twilight
heartbeat with indigo stone
vicious sacrilege