The time has come
the Judgment soon;
Above the mists,
beneath the Moon.
Youth to age, and back again
And all resounds in death;
Death to old and young alike,
And all for Heaven's Breath.
Such were the words that Mary heard, as she slipped into a dream. The
voice seemed to come from the walls, and the walls from the stone
heart of earth, the earth so old it had forgotten them. Too weary and
wretched to fight, yet as she spiralled back and always down, the
Voice became familiar, and edged all else in fear.
It was the voice of her mother, unburied and unwept.
The voice became a hovering form, which followed her as she walked.
The ground beneath her feet grew hard: it was cold, and the winter
wind touched her harshly. Till a great house appeared at the top of a
hill, surrounded by well-ordered green.
She drew nearer its stone walls, passed through and into warmth and
firelight. But it was quickly Night, and in silent corners the shadows
gathered thick to hold their counsel. A long corridor it was, and in
the distance a candlelight appeared, drawing closer: a large, strong
handsome man.
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