Post by Bobbi on Apr 25, 2019 22:49:01 GMT -5
Clouds hung low out the view of the kitchen windows keeping the sky dark and dismal. It was the third day in a row that rains had swept across the grasslands beyond the large two story house. The cold season was on the verge of breaking causing the ground to be a soggy, spongey mess due to the amount of recent rainfall.
Somewhere in the house an alarm was shut off, the chirp-chirp of it cut short by the soft groan of Solomon as he rolled over in a large bed dressed in tans and blues and flicked a finger across the faceplate of his cronometer as it lay on a table next to the bed.
Time to rise.
Tossing the other way and across the bed, Sol got his feet on the floor and stood while pulling a thick grey robe off of the bed with him. Within moments he had it slipped over his shoulders, the plush soft fabric covering marked skin.
As he pulled the belt and cinched it, he took a moment to listen. The house was quiet but for the rain that had just begun to pelt down from the close hanging sky beyond the shelter of his home. It was almost always this quiet, if not more so.
He hadn’t had a visitor here in some time. He hadn’t been back in some time either. His first night in his own bed hadn’t been nearly as restful as it should have been.
Giving himself a stretch, he worked out the stiffness of a restless night and headed for the stairs that would take him down to the first level of the place. Everything was clean, and just where he remembered it being. The large place hadn’t changed much appearance wise. The furniture was the same, the paint was the same. The only thing that had changed was now it felt like it belonged to someone else.
He headed, barefoot, for the food prep room where a caf machine was just clicking off, its brew sitting still hot and steaming and waiting for Sol. First came some spice bread from one of the cabinets. Same cabinet that he had always kept it in, just to the right of where the caf mugs were.
Today, the cabinet was empty.
The baresound of his feet against the cool flooring was offset by the sound of his wide yawn, and the cabinet shutting before he opened another and took out an empty mug.
It had been a long time since he’d had the brand of caf that was sitting there waiting for him to pour. The entire room smelt of it, but it wasn’t the same as he remembered it. There was something bitter about it, something almost sour.
He poured a cup anyway, added some sweetener, and took a sip. It was bland, dry tasting like he was drinking powder even though it was liquid that touched his lips.
Beyond the windows the sky darkened and thunder clapped. The wind had picked up, howling against the corners of the house and tearing across the dark blue-green grass outside.
Solomon wasn’t aware. In the silence of the house someone was speaking.
"We're very grateful for what you're doing. I'm told you'll have the only key, so to speak. The only one in all the worlds."
The woman’s voice was steady on, solid and kind. It filled the whole room, and rose well above the rumble of the storm just starting outside.
He breathed, the cup of caf held just hovering above the counter where he was just about to place it. The room was suddenly filled with the scent of wildflowers, hundreds of them, and the scent of wild growing grass.
"From what I have understood, having one key is the safest way to do this. I'm glad to do what I can to help." He muttered in response, not looking at anything in particular. It was a memory that came from somewhere deep.
"I'll protect you as you protect the Well. If they kill him again, he may lose too much to return to us."
The cup was gently set down, his right hand resting across the width of the opening, covering the steaming liquid with the palm of his hand without touching it, "We will do everything we can to keep that from happening." He told the unseen woman resolutely.
"The others who have died in the Well are still in there. They are our friends, even if they've forgotten. You won't know them from the others. Kill none, Athan. Kill none. They may be us."
"I hadn't thought any of them would have survived to remain within the Well. You have my word, Javinde. I will not kill any of them." His blink was quick, his fingers closing around the edge of the cup’s lip lightly. The warmth of the material was rock solid under his grasp.
"I know you won't, Athan. May the Force be with us all."
And just like that, the smell of grass and flowers was gone. His kitchen was his again, and the storm outside was drenching the surrounding land in preparation of warmer weather.
Kill none. They may be us.
He didn’t know if he could keep that promise now. Things had changed. The Artifex was lost, and she was still waiting, still watching over The Well as she had promised to do. Still waiting for them to come back.
Kill none.
Kill none.
How could he keep that promise while not knowing what had happened to The Artifex?
Somewhere in the house an alarm was shut off, the chirp-chirp of it cut short by the soft groan of Solomon as he rolled over in a large bed dressed in tans and blues and flicked a finger across the faceplate of his cronometer as it lay on a table next to the bed.
Time to rise.
Tossing the other way and across the bed, Sol got his feet on the floor and stood while pulling a thick grey robe off of the bed with him. Within moments he had it slipped over his shoulders, the plush soft fabric covering marked skin.
As he pulled the belt and cinched it, he took a moment to listen. The house was quiet but for the rain that had just begun to pelt down from the close hanging sky beyond the shelter of his home. It was almost always this quiet, if not more so.
He hadn’t had a visitor here in some time. He hadn’t been back in some time either. His first night in his own bed hadn’t been nearly as restful as it should have been.
Giving himself a stretch, he worked out the stiffness of a restless night and headed for the stairs that would take him down to the first level of the place. Everything was clean, and just where he remembered it being. The large place hadn’t changed much appearance wise. The furniture was the same, the paint was the same. The only thing that had changed was now it felt like it belonged to someone else.
He headed, barefoot, for the food prep room where a caf machine was just clicking off, its brew sitting still hot and steaming and waiting for Sol. First came some spice bread from one of the cabinets. Same cabinet that he had always kept it in, just to the right of where the caf mugs were.
Today, the cabinet was empty.
The baresound of his feet against the cool flooring was offset by the sound of his wide yawn, and the cabinet shutting before he opened another and took out an empty mug.
It had been a long time since he’d had the brand of caf that was sitting there waiting for him to pour. The entire room smelt of it, but it wasn’t the same as he remembered it. There was something bitter about it, something almost sour.
He poured a cup anyway, added some sweetener, and took a sip. It was bland, dry tasting like he was drinking powder even though it was liquid that touched his lips.
Beyond the windows the sky darkened and thunder clapped. The wind had picked up, howling against the corners of the house and tearing across the dark blue-green grass outside.
Solomon wasn’t aware. In the silence of the house someone was speaking.
"We're very grateful for what you're doing. I'm told you'll have the only key, so to speak. The only one in all the worlds."
The woman’s voice was steady on, solid and kind. It filled the whole room, and rose well above the rumble of the storm just starting outside.
He breathed, the cup of caf held just hovering above the counter where he was just about to place it. The room was suddenly filled with the scent of wildflowers, hundreds of them, and the scent of wild growing grass.
"From what I have understood, having one key is the safest way to do this. I'm glad to do what I can to help." He muttered in response, not looking at anything in particular. It was a memory that came from somewhere deep.
"I'll protect you as you protect the Well. If they kill him again, he may lose too much to return to us."
The cup was gently set down, his right hand resting across the width of the opening, covering the steaming liquid with the palm of his hand without touching it, "We will do everything we can to keep that from happening." He told the unseen woman resolutely.
"The others who have died in the Well are still in there. They are our friends, even if they've forgotten. You won't know them from the others. Kill none, Athan. Kill none. They may be us."
"I hadn't thought any of them would have survived to remain within the Well. You have my word, Javinde. I will not kill any of them." His blink was quick, his fingers closing around the edge of the cup’s lip lightly. The warmth of the material was rock solid under his grasp.
"I know you won't, Athan. May the Force be with us all."
And just like that, the smell of grass and flowers was gone. His kitchen was his again, and the storm outside was drenching the surrounding land in preparation of warmer weather.
Kill none. They may be us.
He didn’t know if he could keep that promise now. Things had changed. The Artifex was lost, and she was still waiting, still watching over The Well as she had promised to do. Still waiting for them to come back.
Kill none.
Kill none.
How could he keep that promise while not knowing what had happened to The Artifex?