Tower #writephoto

Today’s photo prompt by Sue Vincent

up-north-060

 

She crouched behind a short spiky bush, and waited for a sound. There was none, not even the usual discrete footfall of small creatures in the dark. A hawk could be seen, circling silently around the dark silhouette of the tower.

“So,”she thought,”This is where you died, so long ago even the stones have forgotten your name, the colour of your hair, the strength of your arms…” She relaxed her grip on the sword: there was no-one there, perhaps not even the spirit of the hero, who, in eons past, had died defending her ancestors, in this forsaken and deserted place, alone against multitudes of demons.

But she had to find out. Cautiously she started moving toward the ruin, one step at a time, a fluid and silent motion that only supernatural eyes could have observed.

Yet she sensed some presence, somewhere, closer to the tower, cloaked in darkness. Now she heard the voice of an owl hunting.

First published on May 5, 2016 #writephoto

Knock #writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photoprompt, June 1, 2017

knock

 

She stood in front of the massive door, in awe, at what she guessed was the threshold to the temple. Now, she was close to her goal, to the end of the journey she’d started , eons back, on a deserted beach.

She would have to use the heavy knocker: she touched the metal with one fingertip, it was icy cold, although the air in the tower was merely cool. The demonic head seemed to be looking at her, challenging her to dare. Her eyes followed the curve of the powerful antlers, the cruel, alien shape of the skull. She’d seen the head of the demon before, but she could not recall where. It was as if the heavy brows lifted imperceptibly, as if the demon was reading her mind.

Hesitantly her hand moved to seize the metal loop, and as she closed her fingers on it she felt the now hot metal. As she backed off from the door, the sound of the knocker against the wood was a deep and lasting echo which seemed to resonate down endless corridors.

The eyes of the demon appeared to glow, as, slowly, the door started rotating on invisible hinges. Cold air swept her, as she felt a powerful draft pulling her through the threshold…

 

Inside-out #WritePhoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

p1120009-2

At the end of the tunnel was the entrance of a stone stairway, the steps polished by age, and the ancient walls covered by luminescent lichen and drops of water, heavy in the dim light. She thought she’d heard a flutter of wings, and remembered the small bat that had shown her the way.

Soon, she knew she was climbing the height of an old tower, and, after what felt like an hour of climbing, she could see some daylight, from a high window above her. It had rained and water was pouring from a gargoyle higher up, perhaps near the top of the tower. Yet the stairway continued. She’d seen some blue sky in the clouds, a sign that the storm was going away.

In the tunnel she’d walked for a couple of hours, the ground slowly rising, until she found the steps. Through the ancient window she could only look up, as the ground seemed far down beyond her sight. She wondered how high the tower was. Was the temple at the top of the tower? The sound of the gargoyle’s water got dimmer. Again she heard what sounded like a light beating of wings. The air got colder. How strange she thought: she was climbing up those stairs, and the temperature was coming down…