Stories From the Deep Vol 1

by Independent Cataclysm

From behind the bars of her black carriage she begged, and pleaded. So a bargain was struck in depths of the Cathedral, one soul for another. Rated M for disturbing imagery.

3. Act 2

Act 2: Young White Branch

Children of the Boreal city cleverly hid among the birches playing illusions, hiding from the fears of night. There one such child would play each morn until there were only the birds to deceive. Soft snow with the sturdy birches gifted her peace of heart, while in exchange she would laugh and bask in the happy sun. Black carriages came each day into Irythyll, passing the knights on the quiet stones as they were hoisted up the monolith of Anor Londo. Young Dorhy would grasp her favorite branch, slinking on the steps, to watch the carriages transport their guests into the castle.

'How I wish I could be a queen, I could trot in those carriages with splendor and then eat anything I wanted..'

Whilst planning her cleverest ruse among the birches Dorhy found upon a somber face within a beautiful black carriage. Using her most reliable tricks she would satiate her curiosity trailing the steps once more ignoring the biting wind and cutting flakes of snow. Silently the knights would suffer through yet another guest entering the castle, yet this guest rendered each man on edge. Lines of the soldiers refused to break form, perfectly straight, as caged royalty was slowly brought to the stone and metal gates.

'Why is someone so sad when they're in a vessel so perfect?'

Dorhy would stalk the carriage as an apex predator, body low and gait soft, passing the stone and steel gates, passing the candelabras for service, passing every creaking wooden pew. Her prey found its unwelcome nest near the Saint of the Deep, and so Gwendolyn would weep and beg for her sister. Drooling it savored each desperate emotion until she was ready to eat. The marble refused to recognize the caged woman's pleas as they echoed through Dorhy. She would bare witness to a horrifying truth until the moment gave itself to gluttony, a god would pass.

Warded by fear and her favorite branch she ran back to the birches for sanctuary under a happy sun only to be eclipsed by every black carriage that would pass, its cargo damned up the steps of Anor Londo. Every carriage held the face of deep sorrow, hopelessness, or terror until finally Doryhy saw herself in one of the faces in the carriage.

So she would scream herself awake, eyes wide open, standing next to her favorite birch morning and night, morning and night.