Drabble for Museteasers Prompt #1857
museteasers prompt here
I had a lot of fun with this one, though I'm not sure if the ending is satisfactory. ^^;
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The old moth's hall was covered with a fine white dust that lay so still, not even Trey's stumbling footsteps could disturb it. His breath came in ragged rasps as he made his way to the carved oak chair on a dais. He had been running in the infinite corridor for perhaps a half hour, he could not say; he had lost count of the lights that dotted the corridor ceiling. At the end of three hundred rows of three, the moth door awaits, said the voice in his memory. He had found only one door at the end of the corridor.
On the carved oak chair sat a wizened old man with a faded tattoo on his face. He sat as still as the dust in the hall; Trey could not see any sign of life in him. There was no one else in the hall, and nary a sign of any moths. He approached the chair, knelt, and said the words he had been told to say.
"O wise moth, I present myself as your humble servant. Take me into your service, I beseech you, with the candles that burn in the everlasting night as witness, hear my solemn oath. I am in your debt for as long as a candle's wick burns down, for as long as a moth's dance is centered around a flame, for as long as the dust lies still in the Hall of the Moth. Hear me, O wise moth, and take me into your service."
The old man's eyes fluttered open, and he breathed a long slow breath. "I hear you, Trey Windfall. Stand, that I may look into your soul."
Trey stood. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, making him blink.
"Look at me, Trey Windfall," said the old man. "Look at me and see the flame."
Trey looked, and soon the sweat in his eyes was forgotten. A warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers and the roots of his hair. He could feel his name and his memories burning away; when the burning stopped he could no longer remember the world beyond the Hall of the Moth.
The old man tutted. "Such little there was to burn away. Now, servant, take up that broom and start sweeping. The dust is aggravating my asthma."
I had a lot of fun with this one, though I'm not sure if the ending is satisfactory. ^^;
---
The old moth's hall was covered with a fine white dust that lay so still, not even Trey's stumbling footsteps could disturb it. His breath came in ragged rasps as he made his way to the carved oak chair on a dais. He had been running in the infinite corridor for perhaps a half hour, he could not say; he had lost count of the lights that dotted the corridor ceiling. At the end of three hundred rows of three, the moth door awaits, said the voice in his memory. He had found only one door at the end of the corridor.
On the carved oak chair sat a wizened old man with a faded tattoo on his face. He sat as still as the dust in the hall; Trey could not see any sign of life in him. There was no one else in the hall, and nary a sign of any moths. He approached the chair, knelt, and said the words he had been told to say.
"O wise moth, I present myself as your humble servant. Take me into your service, I beseech you, with the candles that burn in the everlasting night as witness, hear my solemn oath. I am in your debt for as long as a candle's wick burns down, for as long as a moth's dance is centered around a flame, for as long as the dust lies still in the Hall of the Moth. Hear me, O wise moth, and take me into your service."
The old man's eyes fluttered open, and he breathed a long slow breath. "I hear you, Trey Windfall. Stand, that I may look into your soul."
Trey stood. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, making him blink.
"Look at me, Trey Windfall," said the old man. "Look at me and see the flame."
Trey looked, and soon the sweat in his eyes was forgotten. A warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers and the roots of his hair. He could feel his name and his memories burning away; when the burning stopped he could no longer remember the world beyond the Hall of the Moth.
The old man tutted. "Such little there was to burn away. Now, servant, take up that broom and start sweeping. The dust is aggravating my asthma."