A drop of water stuck to the string of a spider web, shining in the light of an unknown source. Water was heard rushing from all the sides, but apart from this tiny drop none was seen or felt. Steps took him into the light, he saw it around the corner. He shielded his face, cringing from the brightness attacking his sight. He seemed to pass the water, even though its tremendous echo still reached his ear. However, far more clearly he heard the birds' songs. He felt a warm gust of wind on his face. Smell of grass and flowers invaded his sensitive nostrils.
Then, he felt… the presence. Unmatched. And non-descriptive. Natural and foreign all the same.
He blinked several times, adjusting his eyes. What he understood was, he stood in the full sun in the garden. The bushes and flowers in beds lovingly taken care of and the willowy silver tree of coal black leaves standing in the middle of it. The stem and the root and the branches and the twigs, all of silver, reflecting the sunlight made the impression of the legendary burning bush. Coming closer, he saw the bizarre tree had some fruits, their color reminiscent of rubies or glistening round glasses filled with blood.
He wanted to come closer, however, halted the moment the figure appeared from the other side of the tree, hidden behind its stem until the very moment. The air escaped his lips.
Lady of the Garden, ignorant to his presence in her realm, gently had taken the bloody fruit in her small hand. Her arm was naked and the skin healthy and vibrating with life force and light. White dress coated her full figure, reaching the ground, leaving the white pool at her feet. The lady had long, thick hair curled in waves of the unusual hue of either blond or red, he could not tell.
Suddenly she turned to him, assessing his intentions with the eyes wild and colored with all shades of green. No word had escaped her mouth, but he waited no longer to bow deeply to her as if he was commended that moment. He had no faith now, except for this Goddess.
"Not yet, my lord." the lady said to him and her voice ringed louder and sounder than those of all her chirping companions. "You will know her. Only you will. You are for her. She shall bring All together. Plead with her friends. Fight with her foes. Love with her deeds."
"...Amen-. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."
Was heard in the distance. Of what father could this prayer possibly be if the Nature Goddess stood before him in the flesh? The prayer summoned him, though. The wind grew stronger, pulled him up, a gracious holy smile bid him farewell and the light consumed him. So he could wake in the eternal darkness.
Matthew woke up in the middle of night to the myriad of incentives. The hardness of the rock he laid upon was a bit clayish, carrying a bit of herbal scent known to him all his life and attached to the Christan baptism ritual. Someone must have spilled the holy oils. The coldness and smell of the wind howling through the wooden windows reminded him of the upcoming fall.
He opened his eyes to see the scope of dust in the darkness. He sat up and confirmed to himself he was in the church. His church. His hand gently stroked the stone he laid on. Bianca. His wife. His wife he wished to find on the other side of life together with their boy. He jumped from the bell tower for them…
"Easy, mon cherrie.", kind esteemed voice spoke from the shadows. He never saw a thing in those shadows once the candles were extinguished. Why is it that then he could see the long shimmering dress of a small woman, whose face he saw clearly as if it was daytime? Lady de Clairmont. She had a troubled face and kind eyes.
"Madame, what…?", he stopped rapidly, as he heard the sound of drums he never heard before. He turned his head toward the ceiling, where imust have been the source of the sound.
And then he suddenly felt thirst. As if the hellish fire consumed his throat. He saw red. Red of the blood singing to him in the chirping voice of the pigeon awoken in the church.
He then knew two things. The insatiable thirst and the unliving body of his, which enabled him to jump until he reached the pitiful pray and ripped its tiny heart.
Little poor drummer to honour his life in the darkness.
The light, the Goddess, and her garden, all forgotten for long centuries to come.
1/4. More upcoming soon. Treat them kindly as loosely connected drabbles :)