Nedowan
Here's a new opener for Nedowan. What do you think? Less dramatic then the last draft?
--
Jill felt comfortable here.
This place was whatever Jill needed it to be, but it was always a stone wall and a tapestry. She could just take a step backwards and watch life around her. Sometimes she came here for a moment of peace, to escape. It was her sanctuary, her mind's eye. Jill had this dream whenever she needed to.
The room was lit by torchlight, and the granite floor below her was covered by a deep blue rug. Above her, the setting sun shone down through faded stained glass windows. Jill spun around and took everything in; only stopping when she saw something she had never seen here before.
A handsome man was sitting on a large white throne. Nobody had ever been here before, not in this place. This was hers; her place to be alone.
Jill looked at the man on the throne and spoke softly. “Hello.”
The man did not turn his head. She thought he might be too busy looking into the tapestry. She often found herself lost in its threads. She watched his eyes, darting back and forth, as if he was searching for something. However, this was not an ordinary tapestry. It had things to find.
The tapestry’s threads crawled with life itself. Weaving in an out, forming pictures that blurred into creation and as quickly sliding apart into patchwork. Over the years, Jill had seen much here: the faces of many strangers, places she had never been, and countless ordinary activities that wouldn’t have held her attention if she was awake. Once she sat watching for so long, she saw herself looking into it from behind. Today, it did not hold her interest. She watched the man who seemed as absorbed as she was the first time she had found it.
Jill decided it wasn’t much fun to watch somebody who didn’t know, or maybe didn’t even care, that you were watching them. She looked in the tapestry too, to see what he was looking for. What was he looking for? Why was everybody always looking for things? A man with a box, a red wagon, a small stream; each image slid into the next only lasting a second. In the end, none of them seemed to make a difference to the man. She knew how hard it was to look for something you can’t define. It didn’t matter if it was an unexplainable knot in your gut, just wanting to fit in comfortably, or longing that feeling of home and sanctuary. They drove men to resolve.
That’s how Jill felt about love. You don’t always know when, or how but you a drawn towards it, directionless. Hell, that’s how she felt about quite a lot of things. It’s like she held a box of meaningless items in her hands, pieces of her life, and she only needed to figure out to figure out why they were there.
In the tapestry there was a big, blue barn and white snow fell for a second before it slid into a rocky ocean coast. The man put his hand forward, and the threads slowly came to a stop. Jill and the man sat and watched the tide crash against the rocks, over and over. A moment of peace and a second later, the man lowered his hand and the threads began to slither and weave into each other, sliding into a lone apple tree in a grassy field.
Jill looked over at the man. “It’s pretty.”
He sat there still and quiet, but his eyes agreed.
--
Jill felt comfortable here.
This place was whatever Jill needed it to be, but it was always a stone wall and a tapestry. She could just take a step backwards and watch life around her. Sometimes she came here for a moment of peace, to escape. It was her sanctuary, her mind's eye. Jill had this dream whenever she needed to.
The room was lit by torchlight, and the granite floor below her was covered by a deep blue rug. Above her, the setting sun shone down through faded stained glass windows. Jill spun around and took everything in; only stopping when she saw something she had never seen here before.
A handsome man was sitting on a large white throne. Nobody had ever been here before, not in this place. This was hers; her place to be alone.
Jill looked at the man on the throne and spoke softly. “Hello.”
The man did not turn his head. She thought he might be too busy looking into the tapestry. She often found herself lost in its threads. She watched his eyes, darting back and forth, as if he was searching for something. However, this was not an ordinary tapestry. It had things to find.
The tapestry’s threads crawled with life itself. Weaving in an out, forming pictures that blurred into creation and as quickly sliding apart into patchwork. Over the years, Jill had seen much here: the faces of many strangers, places she had never been, and countless ordinary activities that wouldn’t have held her attention if she was awake. Once she sat watching for so long, she saw herself looking into it from behind. Today, it did not hold her interest. She watched the man who seemed as absorbed as she was the first time she had found it.
Jill decided it wasn’t much fun to watch somebody who didn’t know, or maybe didn’t even care, that you were watching them. She looked in the tapestry too, to see what he was looking for. What was he looking for? Why was everybody always looking for things? A man with a box, a red wagon, a small stream; each image slid into the next only lasting a second. In the end, none of them seemed to make a difference to the man. She knew how hard it was to look for something you can’t define. It didn’t matter if it was an unexplainable knot in your gut, just wanting to fit in comfortably, or longing that feeling of home and sanctuary. They drove men to resolve.
That’s how Jill felt about love. You don’t always know when, or how but you a drawn towards it, directionless. Hell, that’s how she felt about quite a lot of things. It’s like she held a box of meaningless items in her hands, pieces of her life, and she only needed to figure out to figure out why they were there.
In the tapestry there was a big, blue barn and white snow fell for a second before it slid into a rocky ocean coast. The man put his hand forward, and the threads slowly came to a stop. Jill and the man sat and watched the tide crash against the rocks, over and over. A moment of peace and a second later, the man lowered his hand and the threads began to slither and weave into each other, sliding into a lone apple tree in a grassy field.
Jill looked over at the man. “It’s pretty.”
He sat there still and quiet, but his eyes agreed.