The Return
The darkness has lain, undisturbed, for many years. No creatures have entered; all lays quiet, forgotten, sleeping.
For the first time in what seems like decades, a sound finally sends shivers through the darkness.
The sound of footsteps. Slow, hesitant footsteps, that nevertheless continue inexorably forward.
A pause, an expectant pause, a pregnant pause...would it give birth to silence once more, or something else.
A soft sound...a sigh of resignation. And the ratcheting sound of a key being inserted into a lock.
The lock gives way reluctantly; although but a few years old, it gives the appearance of being in place for centuries, solid and unmovable. The tumblers click into position, and a final wrench of the key turns the latch.
Two things enter...a breath of the air outside, and light. Light glimmering and dancing on dust that has lain inert and sleeping, now revived with fresh breath from the world outside the confines of this room.
As the dust settles, the light caresses the objects in the room, still glittering with the faerie light of particles dancing in the air. The knowledge is still there, shelved and stored. The workspace remains, open, inviting, yet sleeping. Yet some fear yet holds me back, fear that the fire has left me, that the threads my mind now weaves are but tangled messes compared to the architectural wonders I admire.
No matter. With a breath, I cross the room, sit down at the desk, and with quill in hand, prepare once more to dream.
For the first time in what seems like decades, a sound finally sends shivers through the darkness.
The sound of footsteps. Slow, hesitant footsteps, that nevertheless continue inexorably forward.
A pause, an expectant pause, a pregnant pause...would it give birth to silence once more, or something else.
A soft sound...a sigh of resignation. And the ratcheting sound of a key being inserted into a lock.
The lock gives way reluctantly; although but a few years old, it gives the appearance of being in place for centuries, solid and unmovable. The tumblers click into position, and a final wrench of the key turns the latch.
Two things enter...a breath of the air outside, and light. Light glimmering and dancing on dust that has lain inert and sleeping, now revived with fresh breath from the world outside the confines of this room.
As the dust settles, the light caresses the objects in the room, still glittering with the faerie light of particles dancing in the air. The knowledge is still there, shelved and stored. The workspace remains, open, inviting, yet sleeping. Yet some fear yet holds me back, fear that the fire has left me, that the threads my mind now weaves are but tangled messes compared to the architectural wonders I admire.
No matter. With a breath, I cross the room, sit down at the desk, and with quill in hand, prepare once more to dream.