Heritage; the most beautiful word my culture has seen in their lifetime. Customs of which governs us that date back to the 16th century when my clan ruled the nation, a nation none heard of. It was our glorious hour, the golden era as they said but as civilization grew, we shrank into the darkness; waiting for our moment once more. But time has yet to come…
Aidan looked into the horizon; the orange ball of light was setting, casting a wave of multicoloured orange hue onto the clouds. He was nervous and anxious.
The sun quietly slipped away as a car drove off from the century year-old mansion. Swiftly, it passed trees and continued on the endless country road. It wasn’t an hour’s journey when they got to their destination. The door opened and out came a man with a stern air that the world stopped to listen, leaving an uncomfortable silence. His follower bowed his head with respect as the man made for the door of the ancient church.
The stone building was old and had a ghostly air to it. It was out of place in the orange wood yet it blended well after all those years.
The doors creaked opened to reveal a dimly lit hall. Dozens of candles carefully arranged at the altar at the end of the walkway. Lined at the side walls of the hall were black hooded figures chanting silently. The man proceeded to the altar where lay a feminine figure in black. He dropped his coat and spoke behind the altar towards the crowd.
“My fellow friends and family, the time has come to set us free! We shall once more rule the lands that we owned. We shall cause misery to those who stole them from us.” boomed his voice. The hooded figures nodded and cheered harmoniously.
The man rested his eyes on the girl and faced the crowd once more, “Tonight, we shall take the life of the king’s only child and doomed those men to death. Tonight, the curse shall be lifted and no more do we have to hide away.”
With that, the man kneeled down. He reached for a knife at the end of the altar. Slowly, he cleared the hair off her slender throat. The chanting grew louder and louder. The man looked up and loudly shouted ancient verses before sinking his fangs into the lean neck of the girl. The girl opened her eyes in fear. Blood oozed out and soon his entire face, save his eyes, was scarlet. His pupils were coloured red and the whites were whiter than pearls. His eyes spelt hunger for blood. His followers quieten down at the sight of their master and immediately dropped to the ground, showing their respect.
“My children, the time has finally come for us. No more are we slaves of the night…no more! It’s time to feast for the dead!”
Followers cheered at their positions and the man felt contented. He was no more Aidan but the man destined to rule; he was now Lord Strigoi Mort.
No comments:
Post a Comment