The Prologue
Drawing another sustaining breath I pushed my way through the ever thickening forest. When I had entered it, a few hours before, I initially enjoyed the sun-dappled trail, the long shafts of light filtering through the swaying treetops, sending its life-giving rays to the undergrowth that burst with life and activity of its small inhabitants. Or, rather, I would have enjoyed it if only I could let my mind dwell on anything else but the dreadful events that have befallen me in such a short time.
I continued to navigate the way, driven forward by fear and anxiety, which weighed on me like a heavy, soggy blanket. Meanwhile, the woods grew increasingly darker further up the north. The tall firs and dense spruces, spreading oaks and prominent elms provided extensive and nearly continuous shade, with little sunlight piercing through the largely closed canopies.
An unnatural stillness and quietness also settled there, no scurrying squirrel or buzzing honeybee to be seen, and if any chirping was heard, it belonged to a bird that had wandered off too far. I would have welcomed even the sight of a snake or some other unpleasant creature, if only it could bring any other sound but that of the gentle rustling of grass and the soft crunch of freshly fallen leaves beneath my feet.
I wondered if the coldness that was creeping up on me was the product of my own overactive imagination (for it was the middle of June) but when I spotted a few white flakes on the decaying grass, I understood that it wasn't my distraught mind playing tricks on me. A gust of wind enveloped my body and soon, the scenery changed dramatically. Everywhere I looked, the deciduous trees, previously dense with early summer leaves extended their barren branches, which stood out starkly against the white wash of overcast sky.
I wrapped my insubstantial cape even tighter around me and walked on, quickening my pace to increase the blood flow to my cold-bitten limbs. I could feel my cheeks flush from exertion and from the chill of the air that lashed them as I struggled against the wind. When I thought that I could no longer possibly continue in such a manner, I noticed that I had finally reached the edge of the forest, as indicated by the unexpected thinning out of the trees, which had been my only companions for who knows how long.
As the forest cleared, I found myself in the midst of a vast stretch of a field. What remained of the grass was poking up hither and thither through the thin blanket of snow swept in by the howling winds. The milky whiteness of the sky took on a darker hue of dismal grey as the day wore on, signalling the dusk at hand. Looming large in the distance, enshrouded in the descending darkness, was a tall and brooding structure, which strangely harmonised with the melancholy surroundings.
Enthroned on the top of the hill, the castle had several towers, all of them capped with glittering snow, shooting high into the sky. Stopping but for a while to survey the view, I resolved to make it to my destination before the night had settled in. Lifting my head and eyes I looked into a whirlwind of soft, cottony flakes which obscured the vault of heavens in a fantastic display and, descending on my face, swiftly melted upon contact with my exposed skin. However, I barely had the time to admire the whimsical view, my tread growing heavier as I lumbered and trudged through the mounds of snow, which piled up higher and higher. Each consecutive step brought sweat to my brow and dull pain to my muscles that have now grown overtaxed by the long and arduous journey.
Forging my own path through the thickly laid snow, I approached an arched gate with tall, impenetrable stone walls on either side. At last, the castle stood in front of me as if conjured from the storybook of a child, Gothic architecture at its finest: with its ornately carved details, walls of precisely cut stone, flying buttresses, giant pointed windows, geometric patterns on the roofs and formidable-looking gargoyles, guarding the entrance. I felt a sliver of apprehension travel down my spine by the view, gloomy and sublime. If one had not been sufficiently discouraged from proceeding by the taxing climb, the imposing sight alone ought to drive off any strange wanderer who may have hoped to find shelter under its roof.
As I walked through the archway into the courtyard, its grounds covered in several inches of pristine alabaster mantle, it was as if I had passed into an entirely new realm, so different from the one I had left behind on the other side of the forest, that of pastoral tranquillity, where sweet summer reigned in its glory.