Status: ongoing - especially because of NaNoWriMo
The Unforgivables
Prologue
This is the most revered room on the planet.
The Elves, the Humans, the Wizards and Witches, the Demons, and even the Animals give their utmost respect to it.
The Elves worship the flame.
The Humans fear it.
The Animals guard it.
The Demons command the stone grotesques.
The Wizards and Witches create the candles.
The magic-wielding race is no more powerful than any other race. They are respected just as the others are, and they are subjected each rule and punishment.
When every child, every kit and pup is born, a tiny white flame appears. No child is born with a discolored flame; every child is pure and untainted. Select Witches and Wizards, with nimble fingers, draw a delicate wick from the flame. They tug on them, pulling the wicks from oblivion, until the wick stops. It floats, impossibly straight. The wand is then touched to the flame, and dragged down the wick. The wax drips down. Then, the hot wax weaves itself around the wick, the colors dancing in ribbons around each other. The candle then settles upon the ground, and then it is complete.
The only candles that begun their burning as black flames, their wax mottled and dark, were the Devil and his Spawn.
The punishment for touching their candles holds a high price.
Their candles are locked deep beneath the Vorn cathedral, in a damp, cold room. A heavy oak door seals it shut, an iron grotesque acting as a lock. The door has not been touched in many a year.
There we stumble upon the candles that look as if they are made of pure gold. They are tall and slender, like needles. The candles look alive; their wax appears liquid. The flames burn bright and white, sparkling with a golden inner flame. They are God and his Children.
They sit atop the steeple, providing light to the Isle. From lands far away, the races visit and face the white lights. They fall to the ground when they see the lights from miles away, and grasp the grass with white knuckles, praying for good fortune and forgiveness. They leave with hearts swelling because of their own humbleness.
These are the candles that people worship.
The Elves, the Humans, the Wizards and Witches, the Demons, and even the Animals give their utmost respect to it.
The Elves worship the flame.
The Humans fear it.
The Animals guard it.
The Demons command the stone grotesques.
The Wizards and Witches create the candles.
The magic-wielding race is no more powerful than any other race. They are respected just as the others are, and they are subjected each rule and punishment.
When every child, every kit and pup is born, a tiny white flame appears. No child is born with a discolored flame; every child is pure and untainted. Select Witches and Wizards, with nimble fingers, draw a delicate wick from the flame. They tug on them, pulling the wicks from oblivion, until the wick stops. It floats, impossibly straight. The wand is then touched to the flame, and dragged down the wick. The wax drips down. Then, the hot wax weaves itself around the wick, the colors dancing in ribbons around each other. The candle then settles upon the ground, and then it is complete.
The only candles that begun their burning as black flames, their wax mottled and dark, were the Devil and his Spawn.
The punishment for touching their candles holds a high price.
Their candles are locked deep beneath the Vorn cathedral, in a damp, cold room. A heavy oak door seals it shut, an iron grotesque acting as a lock. The door has not been touched in many a year.
There we stumble upon the candles that look as if they are made of pure gold. They are tall and slender, like needles. The candles look alive; their wax appears liquid. The flames burn bright and white, sparkling with a golden inner flame. They are God and his Children.
They sit atop the steeple, providing light to the Isle. From lands far away, the races visit and face the white lights. They fall to the ground when they see the lights from miles away, and grasp the grass with white knuckles, praying for good fortune and forgiveness. They leave with hearts swelling because of their own humbleness.
These are the candles that people worship.
♠ ♠ ♠
prologue, day one. working on chapter one.