The God of Forgotten Places and Lost Things
There is another place, another feeling, another... something, that you only get a glance of on rare occasions.
It happens when there is no one around, in places that were busy, full of noise and bustle and life.
This is the realm of forgotten places and lost things. A shop, long since deserted, looking around the inside, a stirring of dust for no reason, and on a warm day the chill settles gently upon your shoulders.
A walking through the City of London after a tube bombing, walking down the middle of the once gridlocked roads the wrong way with no traffic.
A picking up of something once lost that was obviously loved.
It's a feeling of something lost. The every-day magic is gone, replaced by something all-together darker, something more sinister, something whispering quietly and watching.
This god is a goblin figure skulking in shadows, watching and playing, running a long silent finger down your spine as you bend down to pick up the teddy bear from the dust, running a thumb over the hazed over eyes to allow it to see again.
This hunched goblin, grinning, spins in it's old stolen clothes, thread-bear and dusty cotton shirt and jaggedly ripped trousers of indeterminate colour, whirling and laughing, a sharp cackling as of a foot on a dry twig, master of once cherished toys and photographic images long forgotten.
Lord of Lud-in-the-Mist with his clockwork balls, dancing gaily to imagined tunes with a ripped dress-makers dummy and torturing a one-glass-eyed doll for its own entertainment. A half-smile forever stilled.
It happens when there is no one around, in places that were busy, full of noise and bustle and life.
This is the realm of forgotten places and lost things. A shop, long since deserted, looking around the inside, a stirring of dust for no reason, and on a warm day the chill settles gently upon your shoulders.
A walking through the City of London after a tube bombing, walking down the middle of the once gridlocked roads the wrong way with no traffic.
A picking up of something once lost that was obviously loved.
It's a feeling of something lost. The every-day magic is gone, replaced by something all-together darker, something more sinister, something whispering quietly and watching.
This god is a goblin figure skulking in shadows, watching and playing, running a long silent finger down your spine as you bend down to pick up the teddy bear from the dust, running a thumb over the hazed over eyes to allow it to see again.
This hunched goblin, grinning, spins in it's old stolen clothes, thread-bear and dusty cotton shirt and jaggedly ripped trousers of indeterminate colour, whirling and laughing, a sharp cackling as of a foot on a dry twig, master of once cherished toys and photographic images long forgotten.
Lord of Lud-in-the-Mist with his clockwork balls, dancing gaily to imagined tunes with a ripped dress-makers dummy and torturing a one-glass-eyed doll for its own entertainment. A half-smile forever stilled.