TW: death, illness, general heavier themes ><><><><><><><>< She waited up til late, a quarter past midnight, a knock at the weathered door. A man wrapped in thick robes, face red from the cold, snow blowing in to rest on the floor. She knew him not, but his purpose was sure, his tone was grave. "Ma'am, I bring word of great sorrow. Set ye a new angel light. That lad from the village, they could not save." "They say the fever would not break, the wound would not heal. Not an hour ago, he found his final rest." Dressed in what little finery could be gathered, the laid him in a thin box, a single dried rose placed upon his chest. Underneath the big oak, they buried him softly, the procession offering a hallowed song. The sky cried bitter tears, heavy drops clinging to their black velvets. He was so young, even heaven knew it was wrong. After a long silence the woman nodded, offering quiet thanks. With practiced certainty, from her dusty cupboard, she drew out a candlestick. It was slim and tall, formed of beeswax and browned with cinnamon and pine, with a white braided wick. Each candle had its place, a special corner and shelf, a special sentiment and meaning. She set it alight and stood it up on the sill, breathing some incantation or prayer, the frost ringing the window gleaming. And so the wind captured her words and held them close, echoing through the mountains and whispering in the trees, telling the valley of this loss. So was her ritual. The old clerk, peacefully gone in his sleep. A Candle in the Window. An infant born too soon. A Candle in the Window. Their dear seamstress taken by the winter's pneumonia. A Candle in the Window. The young soldier who never made it through the war. A Candle in the Window. And, now, the farmer's only child, stolen away from them after a tragic accident. A new Candle burns in the Window of the hut on the hill. :0 Thank you for reading, kind soul. Have a cookie :]
I know not what I am doing. :D I hath created this odd poem/story whilst being far too overheated and melancholy. What is this witchcraft of a meter you ask? P A I N. I needed something that allowed many words but wanted a lil rhyming. Heaven help me, I shall now go collapse. BUT, YEAH, THIS WRETCHED THING WAS WRITTEN BY CALLA T^T (Pics from the pin of trest)
