I
cautiously opened the door of the cottage and peered out. There was no one to be seen and everything
looked just as it had the previous day.
I examined the side of the house and could see faint signs of
disturbance but nothing to compare to the sound and shaking of whatever was
being hurled at the house.
In
awe I turned my sights toward the castle.
There it sat in its early morning splendor, the sunrise giving a pinkish
cast to the white walls. With a deep
breath I took to the road once again.
After my frightful night I had no desire to stay anywhere for the night
I
walked through the silence over and around hills. The sun moved slowly across the sky and the
castle grew in size as I traveled. I
passed a few silent villages with their scattering of houses and barns and
empty fields of still grain. I fought
the desire to stop and explore, listening to the deeper pull of the castle
instead.
As
the sun approached the horizon I finally reached the gates of the castle. I expected to enter some sort of a city
first, but there was nothing but a cobblestone road that began a hundred yards
from the gates.
To
my surprise I was still met with the oppressive silence and obvious absence of
anyone. I reached out and touched the
tall metal gates. They swung open
silently and I entered the main courtyard.
A
grid of pillars were situated evenly before me with a trellis work spanning the
spaces between and thick heavy vines entwined among the trellis. The most luscious looking grapes hung
invitingly from the vines. I looked at the
grapes hungrily but they were out of my reach.
I continued on.
The
tiles beneath my feet made a beautiful path of mottled granite. I followed the path through the pillars
toward an arched doorway. When I reached
the door I examined the gold etched artwork around the frame. It depicted tall slender ladies in beautiful
gowns and elegant gentlemen picking grapes from the vines above their heads and
singing and dancing to now silent tunes.
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