I've decided to give this whole writing thing another try. I can't make any promises about when new chapters will be released, but I'll try to give estimates. Please don't hold those against me; I do have a life outside of this, and I write purely for entertainment. I don't want to be harassed about new chapter releases.
Other than that, feel free to post and give feedback! I'd like to know what you all think of it so far.
The table of contents can be found below!
Music While Writing
Prologue: V a c a n t
His pale hand ran along the iron gate that encompassed the abandoned cemetery. Burning yellow eyes trailed along the gate as he continued to let his fingers glide along the glistening top, feeling the wet rust scratch and accumulate in his palm. A nearby lamppost illuminated his sharp, ghostly features and his champagne-colored lips curled into a crooked grin.
With a few swift steps he was positioned at the entrance of the cemetery. Gently rubbing his bony hands together to rid of the rust and dirt, he took one last moment to observe his surroundings. As planned, the cemetery's population consisted of nothing more than a few hundred gravestones and a handful of weeping willows. His smirk broadened and he entered the dismal graveyard, his speed increasing gradually with an intense feeling of excitement. After centuries of anticipation, the moment had finally arrived.
He continued his quick stride, eyes darting from headstone to headstone, until he arrived beneath a particularly large weeping willow. From the legends he'd heard, this tree was among the oldest trees known to inhabit the planet Grimm, easily older than him by a few centuries. However, the tales told to him over the years did the tree no justice; the willow towered high above its offspring, its strong branches seemingly defying time as they pulsed with youth and power. A low breeze whisked through the leaves, which swayed and danced, letting out a gentle moan as though to say you are not welcome here. And welcome, the man was not.
He glazed the willow's leaves with his fingertips before plucking a single leaf and observing it with his cool, yellow eyes. The wind seemed to pick up around him, outraged at the man's cruel actions. The leaf immediately shriveled in his palm, it's vibrant green glow morphing into a sickly black. He turned his palm outward, allowing the leaf to fall to the ground, where it lay stiff beneath its dancing brothers. The man frowned at the sight; he almost regretted having to do this. Almost.
With a quick snap of his fingers, an ax appeared in his rough hands. Large and slim, the ax's handle was engraved with neat lettering. The language was Pinloan, the language of the elves, and it said one word: destrayel, which meant destruction. The man swiveled the ax in his hand, looking the weeping willow up and down one last time before plunging it into the willow's base, piercing the roots that rested beneath a blanket of soil. The wind around him hissed and roared, violently piercing his skin and sending his raven hair into a frenzy as it whipped around his face. The surrounding lampposts, which loyally stood guard over the home of lives lost, could only watch as he raised the ax in the air, their glowing eyes seemingly growing darker with every swing of the man's ax.
After nearly an hour of the man's brutal actions, he found himself surrounded by chunks of the willow's roots, its leaves reduced to decaying litter at the man's feet. The man's chest heaved and he wiped his brow with his sleeve, the warm cloth of his jacket a relief in the suddenly cool air. He reached down at the base of the willow, whose bark had begun to show its true age as it fell in clumps with the breeze. After brushing aside some lose soil, he grabbed at the now-exposed root, which gave off a dim golden glow. With a gentle tug, the root gave way, the willow letting out one last cry of defeat before forever falling silent. It was no longer a guardian of the cemetery, but was rather now one of the many lost souls that inhabited it. The man's white teeth flashed in the moonlight and his eyes gleamed as he rose to his feet, his fingers roughly clenching onto his prize.
He was almost done.
