The Unseen Watcher: A Gothic Tale (Part 7) The Consummation of Darkness
Here it is...the last part for this Gothic Tale (I almost forgot to post). And this will also be the last short-short story I will be posting for a while. I've grown a tad bored :) I have also been itching to write another novel. Yes, I still have two ongoing serial novels on Vella, but I want to write another slasher novel. And I decided I am making my subscribers beta readers. Huzzah!
That being said, I hope you have enjoyed the past couple of months. I will more than likely rewrite the ones I've posted at some point and create another collection of short stories. If inspired, I may even do another one here. Hard to say. It will all depend on my creature brain.
For now...enjoy the final bit for this Gothic Tale..
But first, the legal bit:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact jensequel.com
The girl, once innocent, now consumed by dread,
Haunted by the murder of crows overhead,
As her sanity unravels, her terror grows,
In the shadow of those ominous crows...
Lenore's life, once full of brightness and possibility, now lay shrouded under the oppressive shadows that enslaved her. She found herself trapped in a space where the line between the physical and the imagined became indistinguishable. The constant darkness, a blanket crafted from the deepest recesses of her fears, enveloped her with the same ferocity as the crows that haunted her thoughts without rest. She yearned for the morning's light, for a chance to purge the night's horrors from her spirit; yet the darkness, unyielding in its power, trapped her within its hold.
The black feathers, symbols of her unraveling, lay strewn across her consciousness like a mosaic of madness. Her every breath, a gasp against the stranglehold of dread, her every heartbeat, an echo of the crows' sinister liturgy. Under the weight of their unseen presence, Lenore's spirit fractured, scattering like shards of glass upon the cold, unfeeling earth.
The bleak morning crept in, not with the promise of reprieve, but as the pale harbinger of a reality altered by fear. Lenore, her countenance now a ghostly hue of its former self, gazed into the mirror with hollow eyes, only to find the reflection of a soul ensnared. The crows, with their inky plumage and ever watchful eyes, had marked her as their own; and she, devoid of the strength to resist their malefic embrace, succumbed to the eternal night where whispers transform into screams, and dreams into the everlasting shadow of the crow.
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