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280 B.C.
The sun emerged from behind the clouds of the early morning sky and fell upon the small frame of an amber haired girl who shivered in the bitter zephyr. The night had been long, longer than most had been in a very long time. The lethargy that came over her was debilitating, the visions came so close together now. The prophecies were so clear; it was like nothing that had ever happened before. The bony hand of the priest below her recorded the enigmatic words that emerged from her lips on the yellowing parchment held in his arms. At the first break of light her words silenced, the priest looked up at her his brown eyes wide with admiration and fear. He had witnessed this before and he shared the same fear as she did, he too feared what was to come. Never before had her words been so intense and never before had he actually been so afraid of what she might say. His wizened eyes moved, over the vast chasm in the earth up the three- tiered gilded tripod, which was erected to hold her in her seat; she was bound to it as much as it was to her. The Oracle's body had become so frail in the last quarter moon, the prophesies were endless, and a constant feeling of dread fell over her, they were not like the prophesies of the past, they were not from her god, they were not the words of Apollo. As the days would pass more and more would she come to dread the oncoming night, dread the sun falling behind the horizon what it might bring, what words might spill from her lips, to which beast was she to be a vessel to what horrors would she foresee.
As the sun would set and the shadow of the night would fall over the land so would that same feeling of dread fall over her, it was as though she were in a trance, the cold wind would wrap itself around her as if holding her to her perch, settling itself within her bones the words would begin to fall from her lips. They were words of death, visions of massacre that would not be stopped, they were perhaps a warning for those who wished to run to do so, but the Oracle of Delphi knew different. It wasn't her voice, it wasn't the voice of her god, it wasn't a voice she had ever heard before and it sent terror though her veins. It was the voice of pure evil itself, an evil that existed before time itself, even before the time of the Titan Gaea.
"My Lady," the shaky tired voice of the priest carried up to her, "Are you alright?"
Her voice was hoarse from the long hours it had been used by the spirit, "It is cold." Was all she could muster, her eyes were heavy. It was hard not to step away from her perch, she knew she should not she was bound to it.
'What would the villagers and the parishioners' say?' Shame overcame her just at the mere thought or turning away. She could not step down from her seat, but for more than a moment she contemplated it, she would do almost anything avoid the cold fingers of the plaguing spirit.
"Shall I get something for my lady? A cloak perhaps?" He spoke out to her his eyes finally meeting with her own, they were filled with trepidation, he wished nothing more than to comfort the poor child, she had not asked for this.
"Yes Marius, that would be wonderful." She smiled weakly down at him as she watched him walk away. She turned her eyes back to the sky as they fell upon the sun and silently she prayed for her savoir, she prayed that Apollo would answer all of her prayers and save her from the beast. She pulled the thin material of her clothing tighter around her body, a vein attempt to ward off the cold and closed her eyes.
The spirit that wrapped itself inside her soul as the sun would fall beneath the horizon, she could feel its cold fingers take grasp of her soul and use it against her. She was the true seer; the first to know what evil the darkness would bring the first to feel its touch, the first to know its fear, but defiantly not the last.
280 B.C.
The sun emerged from behind the clouds of the early morning sky and fell upon the small frame of an amber haired girl who shivered in the bitter zephyr. The night had been long, longer than most had been in a very long time. The lethargy that came over her was debilitating, the visions came so close together now. The prophecies were so clear; it was like nothing that had ever happened before. The bony hand of the priest below her recorded the enigmatic words that emerged from her lips on the yellowing parchment held in his arms. At the first break of light her words silenced, the priest looked up at her his brown eyes wide with admiration and fear. He had witnessed this before and he shared the same fear as she did, he too feared what was to come. Never before had her words been so intense and never before had he actually been so afraid of what she might say. His wizened eyes moved, over the vast chasm in the earth up the three- tiered gilded tripod, which was erected to hold her in her seat; she was bound to it as much as it was to her. The Oracle's body had become so frail in the last quarter moon, the prophesies were endless, and a constant feeling of dread fell over her, they were not like the prophesies of the past, they were not from her god, they were not the words of Apollo. As the days would pass more and more would she come to dread the oncoming night, dread the sun falling behind the horizon what it might bring, what words might spill from her lips, to which beast was she to be a vessel to what horrors would she foresee.
As the sun would set and the shadow of the night would fall over the land so would that same feeling of dread fall over her, it was as though she were in a trance, the cold wind would wrap itself around her as if holding her to her perch, settling itself within her bones the words would begin to fall from her lips. They were words of death, visions of massacre that would not be stopped, they were perhaps a warning for those who wished to run to do so, but the Oracle of Delphi knew different. It wasn't her voice, it wasn't the voice of her god, it wasn't a voice she had ever heard before and it sent terror though her veins. It was the voice of pure evil itself, an evil that existed before time itself, even before the time of the Titan Gaea.
"My Lady," the shaky tired voice of the priest carried up to her, "Are you alright?"
Her voice was hoarse from the long hours it had been used by the spirit, "It is cold." Was all she could muster, her eyes were heavy. It was hard not to step away from her perch, she knew she should not she was bound to it.
'What would the villagers and the parishioners' say?' Shame overcame her just at the mere thought or turning away. She could not step down from her seat, but for more than a moment she contemplated it, she would do almost anything avoid the cold fingers of the plaguing spirit.
"Shall I get something for my lady? A cloak perhaps?" He spoke out to her his eyes finally meeting with her own, they were filled with trepidation, he wished nothing more than to comfort the poor child, she had not asked for this.
"Yes Marius, that would be wonderful." She smiled weakly down at him as she watched him walk away. She turned her eyes back to the sky as they fell upon the sun and silently she prayed for her savoir, she prayed that Apollo would answer all of her prayers and save her from the beast. She pulled the thin material of her clothing tighter around her body, a vein attempt to ward off the cold and closed her eyes.
The spirit that wrapped itself inside her soul as the sun would fall beneath the horizon, she could feel its cold fingers take grasp of her soul and use it against her. She was the true seer; the first to know what evil the darkness would bring the first to feel its touch, the first to know its fear, but defiantly not the last.