I dun wrote sommat.
I am Ozymandias, King of kings. Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!
Seriously, enjoy. Itsa new story by me.
Marie was walking through the meandering paths and overgrown patches of Waker’s Hill, contemplating silently on the nature of existence, on the day that marked a sudden reversal of the fortunes of her sleepy home of Villeburg, and especially her own.
Marie was walking with a destination in mind, but with no goals or any specific route planned. It was essentially her favorite part of the day, when she was able to spend time in a place no one else chose to spend time in, and to act at a pace that was entirely of her own setting. Besides that, the ambience of the Hill affected a very drastic change from her usual demeanor, which she found pleasing in the extreme.
Marie was, in her normal life in the town below, undoubtedly the most intimidating figure of her sex, if not of any. She worked as a florist, which made her icy, severe manner somewhat ironic at least in retrospect. When you were trapped in the aura exuded by her focused and perceptive pale blue eyes, which seemed to pull out every inadequacy and fear kept in your being and examine it nonchalantly, you became an animal, scrabbling and clawing for safety. She spoke with a measured deliberation which implied that every word was valued as coin. She, at 17, was several years past the typical age for a girl to be married: But if this bothered her, she showed no sign of it. In between terrified customers, she was usually imbedded in a book, an interest no one else in her generation appreciated.
Marie was not ugly, however. She was tall, with long hair of a dirty blonde color that she kept in a ponytail. She was moderately attractive, and while not fabulously endowed, she was far from rail-thin. This led to several ill-fated admirers, whose feelings developed from a distance, but evaporated when exposed to her gaze.
There was perhaps one woman willing to stand up to Marie’s cold stare, and that was Marie’s mother. Like her husband, Marie’s mother was quite confused about the young woman living upstairs, but where her husband chose to regard such things with a quiet acceptance (choosing instead to focus his attention on her seven brothers), she tried to force it into something she understood, via the sheer force of yelling. Whenever Marie decided to go home, she was assaulted with a harsh litany focusing, among other things, her lack sociability, incessant reading, and flat refusal of any hapless suitors not sufficiently scared off.
“You’ve got quite a lot of nerve, don’t you? You just think that you’re so great? You don’t need anybody, you just read your damned books as though they’re all of the company you could ever want, normal people just aren’t good enough for Marie Annette-“
“Don’t call me that.” She interrupted coolly.
“-If you don’t get married soon, I’ve half a mind to throw you out into the cold and mud! Then see how fine your damned books are!”
Marie knew that at this point, her Mother had been carried past the point of rationality by the momentum of her own indignation. So she finished her meal and simply walked outside, with her mother still railing inside.
Marie particularly enjoyed Waker’s hill, an enthusiasm unshared by Villeburg’s general populace. The Waker’s hill area was densely wooded, but from the peak you had an overlook of the rest of the town. But Marie chose not to venture to the summit, and instead wandered around the gently sloping base. The woods exuded a sense of the exotic- each tree was bedecked with vibrantly colored foliage, tinting the light floating down into shades of rich magenta and pale green. Patches of wild flowers, bearing slight resemblance to familiar breeds but noticeably askew, grew haphazardly. The overgrown paths seemed to be designed to confuse- it broke of into random loops and cul de sacs in a nonsensical fashion.
Usually when Marie wandered the hills, she was content to let the meandering paths do the navigating- but today, she decided to embark on a direct ascent, and perhaps discover new havens closer to the summit.
She had been walking for fifteen minutes when she began to hear the sound of music, from some variety of stringed instrument- a guitar perhaps, or a mandolin or lute. The notes themselves held a strangely resonant sound, falling in a rapid and persistent strumming pattern. They held an oddly persuasive quality, and she found herself quickening her pace towards the source before she realized it.
As she ran up the increasingly steep path, she saw what might have been a clearing in the vibrant forest. So too did she begin to hear words to accompany the music. They came from a voice that made her nearly lose her balance as it cried out, with a sort of gentle, but no less obvious confidence. As she stepped into view of the clearing, she heard the voice say-
“So the Maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights
They say the Oaks are just too greedy
And they grab up all the light!
But the Oaks can’t help their feelings,
If they like the way they’re made
And they wonder why the Maples
Can’t be happy in their shade…”
Marie entered the clearing in near-awe. It was much larger than she predicted, and held within it the crumbling remains of a truly ancient manor. An overgrown hedge surrounded it, in the middle of which was a threshold with no gate- likely scavenged at some point for spare metal. The manor itself was built of a peculiar stone, predominantly grey, but sometimes catching a bit of light and reflecting it back in brilliant hues.
As her eyes traveled across this dilapidated scene, she noticed the source of both the music and the voice. A young man was lying in a patch of soft-looking grass, head resting on a makeshift pillow of seeding ferns, guitar held across his sprawled-out body like the sword of a dying soldier. The young man was wearing simple brown work pants, with suspenders over a plain white shirt, its collar turned up against the bits of grass. His hair was longer than most, and lay disheveled over his eyes. His hair was blonde to the extreme, seeming white when in direct contact with the sunlight. He had ceased playing, and was watching her with an expression she could not place, partially due to his hair obscuring his gaze.
The fact of his watching her occurred to Marie suddenly, which almost had the effect of flustering her. Somewhat unnerved, she said in a tight, controlled voice, “Good Morning.”
He smiled serenely. “Isn’t it just?”
“I… what are you doing up here?”
“Are you the proprietor of this ruin?”
“I… no.”, she said, taken aback at his effrontery, something she wasn’t used to from boys.
“Then I don’t see why you have the authority to ask.” He accompanied this remark with a strum of his guitar, as if to imply finality. Though his words spoke defiance, his voice was nothing but pleasantry.
Marie gritted her teeth silently. So, she thought, we’re dealing with this sort of boy. Even mentally, the word was said with derision and disgust. Any attempt at conversation would be thwarted by this malcontent’s need to feel witty and smart. She put on her serious face, feeling an odd pang of disappointment.
The young man spoke again.
“Maybe if you told me what you doing I’d be a bit more obliged. What could a pretty young girl like yourself be doing in these remote parts?”
Marie was stunned into silence. Her cheeks flushed, not at any flattery, but that somebody would dare to refer to her as “pretty” (a word, to her, with some negative connotations.” She spoke back, her words edged with some irritation.
“Hey, what’s this all about ‘young’ girl? I look about as old as you, if not younger. Besides, I live next to this hill, but I’ve never seen you before.”
The young man continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Are you out communing with nature? Are you a witch?” An expression of mock astonishment appeared on his face. “Are you going to dance naked at midnight.”
Marie simply stared agape at this. Her brain, quite used to dealing with people afraid of her, simply had no idea of how to reply. The young man seemed to register her shock, and sighed resignedly.
“I seem to have upset you. I apologize. You probably aren’t a witch.”
He jumped up suddenly, energy surging through his thin frame as if struck by lightning. He walked over to her and bowed with exaggerated flourish of his hand, like he was in a play. “I’m Julian Reinhardt. Charmed.”
Marie was not so shocked that she forgot her manners, and curtsied in return. As she did, she noticed a weird lightness in herself, as if all of her actions came easier. The same lightness, she also realized, had crept into her emotions- irritation, embarrassment, shock, all in atrophy in her daily life, had made their presence felt.
“I’m Marie Annette Kendal.” She said, and then mentally cursed.
Julian looked quizzical at this. “Marionette? You’re a puppet?”
“Annette is my middle name, but I hate that pun. I’d REALLY prefer if you called me Marie.”
Julian grinned at this. “Very well then. Would you still like to know what I’m doing here, Marie?”
“I suppose so.”
A look of great excitement passed over Julian’s face. “Well, Marie, as it so happens, I’ve been traveling for quite some time, and lately I’ve been looking for a new residence. You know, a place to call home. And this place-“ He gestured grandly at the decayed mansion behind him, “-Is the best place I’ve seen so far.”
Marie looked unimpressed. “So you’re basically a vagrant.”
Julian deflated somewhat at this comment, but was still enthusiastic. “ I like to think of myself as an artist, actually.”
“Really. What kind of art?”
“You know, you really don’t get the sense of a place until you look at it from a distance. I think I’ll go back to the summit. Would you like to come with me? The view is quite spectacular.”
Marie looked at the sky. The sun was almost set, and it would be dark by the time she got back home. But then again, she found the idea of hurrying back home utterly ludicrous.
“Very well. But you know, it was quite forward of you to assume that any girl would follow some strange man into the woods this late.”
“Really? Hadn’t crossed my mind.” At this he turned his back and began walking along an uphill slope.
Marie laughed, despite herself, and followed after him.
As she walked behind him, it occurred again just how unusual her behavior was. Laughter? That was really the limit. That feeling of lightness, which somehow made this new ascent easier then the ones before it, was still present. But where was it coming from? Her surroundings? The discovery of the ruined manor?
Another alternative existed, but some part of her mind blanked it out before she could explore it further.
After walking in silence for several minutes, Julian suddenly spoke up.
“So, Marie, tell me, do you have somebody special in your life? Someone with which to spend the cold winter’s nights which lie ineffably before us?”
“If you are asking about my love life, then I can assure you it is quite nonexistent. I don’t have, nor do I plan on having anything to do with boys.”
“Oh really? And why not?”
Marie let out a laugh loaded with bitterness. “Boys are the lowest state of human existence. They lack maturity, sense, or any concept of dignity. A boy is just a mass of bulging muscles, false arrogance, and overindulged libido.”
Julian apparently found this hilarious, so he laughed. “Well, then I think we may just get along then. I’m quite thin, as you can see, and I haven’t an amorous thought in me. And any arrogance I have, I’ve earned.”
Marie thought about that for several seconds, during which she and Julian emerged into the summit.
The view was as Julian had said: spectacular. She was able to look out over the town below in its entirety. It seemed even smaller when seen from this vantage- as insignificant, petty, and isolated as she had ever thought in her disgruntled musings.
Closer to the summit, she could see the entire collapsed mansion in the clearing. It had an unusual quality in its design- from a central pentagonal house radiated many smaller gazebos, and fragments of wall in unusual patterns. These various structures, though purposeless at first glance, seemed to hold an organized pattern, which gave an illusion of being frozen in motion, as if in orbit around the central building.
As she speculated, Julian walked up next to her, his gaze also faceted to the ruin below. When he spoke, it was in a voice that sounded quite far away. There was little left of his earlier casualness.
“I do really enjoy this view, you know. Distance, a sense of scale, of purpose: to me, these things are key to perception. From that clearing, there existed only the present- a molded, crumbling wreck, fit only for some vagrant. But from here, it seems I can see everything it was, its majesty, its dignity…”
In the growing dark, Marie could just make out the grin taking ship on Julian’s face.
“… And its future power. Its potential for greatness.”
He turned to face Marie, and when she saw the look on his face, she could barely suppress a shudder of fear, traced with a morbid sense of excitement.
“Tell me, Marie Annette, what is your greatest fear?”
She was once again speechless. Her mind felt transparent, as if the question had simply passed through her.
Julian spoke again, this time with a slight amount of force in his voice.
“Your greatest fear, Marie. Tell me. I’m somebody you can trust, maybe the only one.”
Some part of Marie had already supplied an answer: being alone with strange men at night. It had all the cold and spit of a typical action from her. But she didn’t say it. She knew that this situation was beyond such petty insults. Those words would have fallen like pebbles into a canyon, leaving neither mark nor impact.
“You have nothing to fear from me. Just tell me.”
She opened her mouth to speak, the words on her tongue like sand.
“That other people will change me. That they would erase who I am.”
As the words left her, a sudden rush of wind passed through the summit clearing. But it did not leave them; it rushed back around Julian, tossing his pale blond hair as it spiraled around him. His eyes were not squinting against the draft, though: They were wide open, and reflecting all of the moonlight back at Marie.
Julian began to laugh, his voice erupting forth in great peals. His laughter was not spiteful or mocking, but humorous, as if he had just heard a good joke. Marie was once more speechless- the glow in his eyes held her still. A glow that remained even as the clouds removed the moonlight from the area.
“That was quite impressive, Marie. Most are unwilling to even consider the nature of their fear, much less admit it to any extent. You showed a lot of character.”
He turned away from her, back towards the ruin. He extended his arm away from his side, and made a strange gesture, as if reaching and pulling in the air. All of a sudden, in a motion that made Marie’s head spin, he was holding a long black overcoat. As he pulled it on, he spoke.
“Sadly, however, what you told me is not entirely true. In fact, it is in no way true, since our greatest fear is in fact our only fear, all others mere extensions.”
A change swept over Julian when he donned the cloak. His eyes retained their eldritch shine, and doubled it. His hair kept its windswept dishevelment. Overall, his features seemed to become more distinct, sharper, focused.
“But I do not begrudge you, Marie. It is extremely unlikely that anybody can face such a truth unprepared. But it was a very informative lie, in what it revealed about the liar. And in any case, we have both lied to each other tonight.”
Even as he spoke, he was focused on the manor.
“I said that you have nothing to fear from me. But that wasn’t true.”
He held his hands over the manor, below, framing them from his perspective. As he did, Marie saw that his hands were glowing with a strange light, a light that evaded classification in the typical spectrum. The closest it came was an oddly tinted yellow-green.
The light in Julian’s hands began to pulse, and as it did, the manor below seemed to illuminate, the growing light pulsing in time with Julian’s hands. As it grew, the light became focused on the edges and formative lines of the manor. The radiating sections and structures occasionally shot off gouts of light into the main structure, like lightning bolts.
Julian’s hands began to move again, moving upwards in slow lifting motions. As he did, the building’s glowing frame rose from the building itself. As it rose into the night sky, its shape changed, morphing, crumbled walls rising into illuminated spires. As he Julian worked the shimmering lines ever higher, his eyes held a look that was one part strained, one part rapturous.
Mesmerized by the structural aurora taking shape before her, Marie could only think of three things on a repeating loop- memories of strangely colored flowers and trees encountered in Waker’s Hill; Julian casually forgetting to answer what kind of artist he was; and mainly, rumors she had heard, but dismissed. Rumors that, long ago, the manor on Waker’s hill had been the home of a wizard.
Julian’s hands became still once more, as the shimmering lights achieved a state of stability. Growing out of the wrecked foundations of the manor was a magnificent, incandescent tower, its concentric layers bedecked in every color of the spectrum.
To Marie, the sight of the tower brought neither horror nor disbelief- as its soft bulk filled her gaze, her heart seemed to freeze in place. Her brain had become utterly still, as if devoting all of its space to capturing the sight before her eyes.
She was shocked out of her reverie by the sound of Julian’s voice, which resumed as though it had never stopped. His voice held its same vitality, despite the feat he had just accomplished.
“I am your greatest fear, Marie. I am everything that you shrink from. You have lived every moment of your life in terror of me and what I am.”
At this, Julian snapped his fingers, and Marie’s world was wrapped in darkness.