enturing into the world

Milady, tis nigh on twain weeks since my words last graced these pages and I have felt the lack most acutely. With ten days immersed in a world so akin to hell that only the lack of a sulphurous stench would give lie to those words. T'would be unseemly for me to despair, but having ventured deep into this realm I fear my soul is weaker than it should be. But with that my ire has risen as well, anger at the perversion of the old ways.

Yet, even as I sit here with my hands atremble the calming song of thy feathered friends as dusk approaches, the babble of the brook and sublime serenity of this glade are working there magick upon me; working the knots from mine mind to soothe this wrathful wraith. For milady, that is what man is to their fellows. Wraiths, empty spirits of hollow echoes and nothing more. I ventured from this hallowed canopy of leaves, through rows upon rows of houses filled with wonders such as we can scarce imagine. My feet wandered on roads that were warm by day, sealed against the inclemental weather and safe against the very clop of hoof. I saw the horseless carriages travelling at speeds that no destrier could match with young and old sitting confident within their belly. T'was by following a shiny river of these on roads raised far above the mere soil that I came to a rise and beheld the first city. For a day and a night I watched and waited; huddled within the cold shelter of an overbridge. Milady, the sight of such a thing - a sprawling, seething mass of humanity blanketed in a foul yellow-gray fog. Their artisans are sorcerors in their own rights, lifting buildings far above mortal ken until their tops pierce the very clouds. But it belches forth a foul stench and even from this distance one can see it harbours something undeniably wrong. But where the city is a monstrosity by day - akin to some ravenous maw that devours all who eagerly strive towards it; it becomes a jewel at night shining with a glory that far outshines the stars. Myriads of lights illuminate it until it shimmers as one of the Lady Guinivere's bejewelled gowns and reflects in the waters lying at her feet. Tis beautiful to behold and yet, as darkness fell the city disgorged its load and once more every man, woman and child who had so eagerly entered felt an even more fervent desire to depart. In droves they fled from the moment when the lady revealed her beauty.

I kept a quiet vigil and savoured her moonlit evanescence until, with the coming of dawn her grace was withdrawn. For but a moment her towers gleamed with a golden light and with this glory held to my heart I ventured onto the road that led into her heart. To dwell upon the cacophany; the filth and general malaise that dwells within those bustling streets would only serve to hurt thee, milady. Gray smoke seethes from their sewers and piles of offal rots in the back streets where as often the stirs and flutters will be another human being, discarded to live amongst the rats in miserable poverty. The sight of those towers unmans one, monuments to power and glory that pushes you deeper into a small place within your heart as you realise that the faceless and eyeless masses that wander these streets worship but one god. To their eyes I was but another discarded rag, to be ignored despite my pleas for direction. And worse, to fill their sight as a scrambling beggar for whom their charity would not touch their eyes, but was left at a scattering of coins on the floor for me to pick at like a dog grateful for the leavings off his masters table. My soul burns with humiliation as I recall this, milady and even more how the sour taste of pride rose in my throat as I fell to my hands and knees and scurried to retrieve those few coins. Perchance the drunken beggar shall know of a needful soul; or mayhap at the Holy Mission t'would stretch the larder. But as hunger gnawed upon my belly and my weary feet sought this refuge I began to wonder if ever I would find it amongst this fools maze.

But find it I did, milady. Find it I did, indeed.

Tis a tale for another day though as weariness hath finally caught me and it's willful and wicked fingers are lulling me to sleep. Until the sunlit morn once more kisses me awake I will remain thine, caught within thy loving embrace