A dark form leaned against a door, reaching out a black-gloved hand to draw
back his hood. Garrett was home.except, he wasn't a master thief yet. The
power, the fame, the prestige that hindsight might lay upon him weren't
there. In this day and age, he was a runaway, a disobedient acolyte, a
drifter, with no possessions and no money in his pocket. But one thing was
for certain: he was no longer a keeper. Smiling slightly, he stirred and
gazed around at the opulent furnishings. Opulent, at least, to a young man
raised in the shadows and dust of the keeper compound.
Red and gold rugs, finely woven, caught underfoot. Lacquered, elegantly carved tables, bookshelves brimming over with leather bound chronicles, glittering diamond pane windows and oak chairs, their varnished surfaces rinsed in hellish tones by the glare of a tallow dip. In the next room a low bed was scattered with torn, worn out blankets, sheets that were thin from relentless washing and a pillow with a long slash ripped in it, like it had been stabbed with a knife.
Garrett felt a slight breeze, tugging at his cloak and hair as he laid a hand on another door. Frowning, he opened it slowly, eyes darting around, fingers creeping for the hilt of his sword. Not knowing what horrors he faced, he advanced cautiously, ready to bolt. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he took a step forward and found himself.in a closet.
Reaching out to straighten a coat hook, almost on impulse, he cursed his shredded nerves. The section of wall that slid away with the scream of stone nearly gave him a coronary. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he stirred a small black object with his toe. Fear, this cold, paralysing terror that lurked in the shadows of the heart, was new to him. A blinding explosion of light became his world as the flashbomb sluggishly activated itself. 'Maybe this is what it's like in the center of a star as it dies: no colour, no sound, no light, just the pain of all five overloaded senses screaming at once' he thought. When he had wiped away the blood that streamed from his eyes, he rose from the foetal position he'd taken, curled up on the dusty floorboards. Staggering into the next room like a drunken man, he fell onto the bed and into a death like slumber. Fell into the past. Sleep wasn't going to be a refuge this time.
Red and gold rugs, finely woven, caught underfoot. Lacquered, elegantly carved tables, bookshelves brimming over with leather bound chronicles, glittering diamond pane windows and oak chairs, their varnished surfaces rinsed in hellish tones by the glare of a tallow dip. In the next room a low bed was scattered with torn, worn out blankets, sheets that were thin from relentless washing and a pillow with a long slash ripped in it, like it had been stabbed with a knife.
Garrett felt a slight breeze, tugging at his cloak and hair as he laid a hand on another door. Frowning, he opened it slowly, eyes darting around, fingers creeping for the hilt of his sword. Not knowing what horrors he faced, he advanced cautiously, ready to bolt. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he took a step forward and found himself.in a closet.
Reaching out to straighten a coat hook, almost on impulse, he cursed his shredded nerves. The section of wall that slid away with the scream of stone nearly gave him a coronary. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he stirred a small black object with his toe. Fear, this cold, paralysing terror that lurked in the shadows of the heart, was new to him. A blinding explosion of light became his world as the flashbomb sluggishly activated itself. 'Maybe this is what it's like in the center of a star as it dies: no colour, no sound, no light, just the pain of all five overloaded senses screaming at once' he thought. When he had wiped away the blood that streamed from his eyes, he rose from the foetal position he'd taken, curled up on the dusty floorboards. Staggering into the next room like a drunken man, he fell onto the bed and into a death like slumber. Fell into the past. Sleep wasn't going to be a refuge this time.