The Cloister in the Castle – Gothic Horror (Introduction) – March 17, 2016

What could have prevented his departure, a cool breeze maybe a mystic wave, surely no bright lights no vulgar acclaim nor any new miracles. She asked herself without hope of receiving an answer, nothing really could have kept him there. Once the watch had announced that it was twelve, and in the plaza the clock bells rang the hour. The deed was done. Midnight. He was no more.

In the sky hung the gibbous moon, how silly to think of croissants and tea but then sillier still to think of him. He or any other. Her new pale sisters sang matins.

What could have prevented his departure, a cool breeze maybe a mystic wave … here in these dark corridors, surely no bright lights.

Reading from her Breviary she harmonizes with her sisters. The shadows creep closer with each “Ave” in the cloister. Her soul was consumed with the memories of him, his smell, his breath near her cheek as he helped her dismount from her steed. His hands upon her waist. She would have been more pleased if his hands had been on her bare skin.

Of course he was not destined to be hers. He was yet another sacrifice to her new master, his destiny had been written from the moment he’d been chosen to accompany her to this place, once he’d seen her face he was doomed.

The Mother sang the last “amen”. One of the clock. The Father behind the grate welcomed her to the cloister where she would be immured for eternity. Her husband by proxy had died of the plague. Her father had confiscated her husband’s treasure for his needs and closed her, his own daughter up in the convent and no one but the young knight knew where she was. And now he too was gone.

Once in her cell the night fell upon her and her soul was at last taken by the demon who inhabited the cloister. Her father, the Duke, had paid his debt and his wealth was assured. He’d sold out his son-in-law and his own daughter to the demons of the night … and one day, though he didn’t know this, he too would be consumed by the demons, but unlike his daughter, his would be the pit of eternal fire … hers the living death of the night creatures.

Weekly Writing Prompt #28 Week 14th March 2016

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