The smell of cinnamon in the room, a burnt candle on the bedside table, an empty bottle of Shiraz on the floor beside the ivory bed, and finally… a lady clutching onto a tattered book while tangled in her silken sheets with a tear running down her cheek.

I prayed that the wooden floorboards wouldn’t creak under my weight as I  got out of the bed, because God knows that hell had no fury like her majesty awoken suddenly from her slumber.

She could feel that something was wrong with the way the wind made her skin crawl as she teetered out from the bar onto the small alleyway leading to her home and she felt almost as if there, in the dark, were a pair of eyes watching her every move.

At night, when Ember lies down in her bed and listens to the rain softly running down her skylights she travels the worlds unknown to men. 

Tonight was no exception; she was running in a maze to find her prince, a man she hardly knew but a face he had.

Ellie found it easier to cope with the world by slowly removing herself from it, she had a superpower of cooking up wonderlands in her head and falling in love with strangers as she built them into magical characters in her stories and poems.

As the reality seemed to shun her out and strike her with a pike into her heart she fell in love with words, as if the blood dripping from the end of it was a pitch-black tint tainting her poetry with pain and sorrow as she crafted her words into bullets that could make a grown man shed a tear.

Evan didn’t know how long he had been lying there with his arms crossed on his chest and the sandalwood incense burning his nostrils,  to him it seemed as if the flow of time had slowed down or didn’t exist altogether and even if he could hear the clanging of what appeared to be dishes in the next room – he hadn’t moved much since he lost his sight and the seer had led him to a bed.

Evan could have done with a little more luck but it was as if he had been on a stroke of misfortune his whole life, maybe that is why he found himself on that chair knuckle cracking and waiting for the seer to give him something.

Perhaps a new faith in the set of Gods to make his life better – a rune to magically make him fall in love with the world, a potion or a numbing cream for his aching soul, something, anything to make him feel like a human being again.

It was as if he was venturing into the halls of an old abandoned building and as he stood there on the door frame, clutching a key in his sweaty palms, he couldn’t help but be perplexed at the fact that anyone could ever show such neglect to something so majestic.