A rain filled day, dark clouds and black sky. Once in an ancient library, there held the keeper of all life’s cryptic beauties.

The books start to rot, and the chairs are plant pots for little shrubs and trees desperate for water.

The rain thunders on the old tin roof when the brumbies fly through the sandy deserts.

The midnight raven soars steadily past the vine-filled library as a crackle of lighting strikes the ground. Nothing has lit fire, but it seems as if the dead has been disturbed. 

Everything is still.

The raven caws.

Footsteps can be heard from the yard outside, the crunching of the dry grass and the occasional snapping of twigs. He walks up the steps and notices a yellow feathered cockatoo perched on a sign, hanging by the moss covered chains that read, Life’s Greatest Adventures.. 

The stiff, decrepit door, slowly and softly opens with a little creak, as the young lost soul wanders meekly inward the library in search for a shelter.

This is a shelter after all. 

He watches aimlessly around the room, green wallpaper ripped off the walls, moss creeps out the cracks in the wall. Like a virus seeping it’s way into the ground. Book scour the library like the billions of people on earth.

Rain falls through a hole in the roof, landing on a sapling covered in dirt, the soul ambles over to the plant and removes the dirt so it can grow. 

Everything is still. 

The raven caws.

As he continues his embarkment into the hidden library he wanders down a long hallway, he comes across another door. One with an embroilment of a dragon in the finest detail on the front of it.

The golden handle of the door was cold, as if no one had touched it in decades. It was hard to turn at first, but then it make a click and allowed him to open the old door.

As the door became more ajar, he found himself in a strange auditorium. 

Award glasses smashed and the chandelier is broken.

But he spots a yellow glow, in the far corner of the room.

He hears a low humming noise coming from the light.

The raven caws.

The soul creeps around the chairs and tables looking around for any danger ahead.

The soul becomes closer the shining light. He can just make out a silhouette. A little girl.

He starts to hear music. Classical to be exact. Violin.

He moves closer, and closer. And the light becomes brighter.

And as he moves around the table, he get a clear image of the girl.

She has her head down. Her eyes, the light was missing. Her hair was a soft golden brown.

She wore a silk-made dress with knee high boots, like a cowgirl in spirit.

The girl was holding a pencil in one hand, and her sketchbook in the other.

The soul was curious about her, curious about someone, who would sit in such a dreadful place.

It was a shelter after all.

She looks up.

Everything is still.

The raven caws.

Her eyes met with his and they locked like a safe. They were staring for a while. Her eyes shine again. Her shining greens eyes seem like a deep twisted green forest that no mortal could ever escape.

And as if he wasn’t there, she looked down and continued her work. Spinning her pencil on her finger, biting it and spinning it again.

The figure she was drawing was a girl. A dancing girl.

A ballerina outfit. Pointy shoes and an expressionless face.

It matched the classical music perfectly.

As she continues to draw, he falls deeply into a trance, the only noise valid to his subconscious is the sound of the pencil sliding it’s way across the paper. That beautiful sound transforms into a waterfall. There she sits, under the oak tree. Sketching at the paper. He head is down and she is focused. It’s almost as if she’s in a trance as well as he.

Her eyes start to shine again. This was the keeper of all cryptic beauties.

The candle flickers and the light burns out.

He is awoken but she falls asleep..

She lays down ever so slowly and falls into a deep state of mind, still humming the classical tune playing in the air.

A whisper lays it’s head on the boy.

“Once the candle burns out, the heart of the keeper becomes ever so still, waiting for the realm of possibility to open, so it can finally return home.”

Once now, once tomorrow, once forever.

He sits there, waiting for her to awake. He still does. Forever.

The rain patters. The raven caws. 

And the night becomes still once again.


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