Chapter Three

Silence.
The most comforting sound to my ears.
Silence; except for the gentle whispering of the wind. Can you hear it? Can you hear what it is saying? No, of course not. It takes a lot of practice.
The earthy smell of the dirt surrounds me.
The light is slowly dimming, attempting to steal my sight from me; even knowing it cannot. The old trees cast long shadows into their midst and around myself.
The autumn-kissed leaves litter the ground, as the branches hang bare in the gloom of dusk.
The cool air rises goose bumps upon my bare arms, and though my hands can feel their texture, my body recognizes no sensation of the temperature.
My small, pale hands smooth the layers of black lace that make up my dress, and my thin fingers fondle the top layer.
The setting sun set the sky a blood red, and cast a red glow upon the ground around me, mixing with the shadows around the tombstones.
From the shadows upon the ground, tombstones hid in the silence of the forgotten resting place. From the dark, hard dirt and piles of discoloured, disposed leaves, the old, weather-worn markers rose desolately in the dark.
The names they bear, forgotten souls. They have sat here so long, their names, graven for eternity in stone, are consumed by the creeping ivy and the wild rose bushes, which have died from the onset of the coming winter.
From between the trees, I can see the cliff that hangs above the mirror-like ocean. It reflects the sky's sunset, turning it's waters to blood.
The forgotten souls whisper to me across the wind; their ear-splitting screams, their heart-breaking sobs, their desperate pleas for my help. Yes, the wind is the most comforting sound in the world. This cemetery has long since been deserted and forgotten, which is why the almighty horned god has granted it to me.
A grand, above ground, stone tomb sits off to the side of the field of graves, hiding just among some sparse trees. It is no larger than a shed, but the thick, ancient, stone walls conceal the coffin inside. The inside is dark, and the only way in is the fancy metal grate of a gate.
The outside is covered completely in rose bushes, that are now dead for the coming cold.
I approach the mansion among the trees, and open the gate, of which the lock has been gone for decades.
The name above the door is barely legible due the weather, years, and vines.
As I enter the small, dark tomb, I close the gate behind me.
I hesitate for just a second, as my eyes quickly adjust, before sliding the heavy lid off the built-in stone coffin.
No corpse resides in it. He is the only one I allowed the graves robbers to take.
I climb gracefully in, with the soft red interior gently caressing my pale skin. I move the lid back to the best of my ability, and close my eyes.
The land of the forgotten. A gift from my horned god. This is my paradise, my hell, my kingdom, my hearse; my home.

Author's Note

Still needs work. I will probably go over it again later and add more.