The room is dark and dank and dusty. The black swallows it whole, making the room seem to go on forever. Perhaps it does. Who could tell the difference? Certainly not the one thing present…Most certainly not.
One could not see her (or it? Matters such as this are unknown to those of the Earth), even if they tried; the only trace that something is present is a tiny, flickering candle seated in the center of the room. It provides a ball of light before its very essence is sucked into the darkness. And how the flame struggles and flickers, determined to remain lit—though it will not go out. It refuses to; not until there is not a single thing present. At that point, the room will complete its descent into darkness.
This is where the realm of the living meets the realm of the dead.
This is where spirits wait to be alive once more, if only for a time.
And this is where she waits, intangible in form but sound in mind, for her final chance to walk among the living; to be restrained to a body; to exact revenge.
No one will stop her, for when she is called down, she will be the agent of Death, and she will carry out His will.
And she waits.
Hey, readers! This is just a dumb little drabble I wrote; I'm sort of a novice, and I'd like some feedback. Please critique me-r&r!
-F.H.