The great hallways were silent. Not a bird or fox dared linger near the temple. The only things that dared come near were sprigs of ivy and wildflowers that looked as daring as what they were growing on, but they never lasted for very long. It seemed that even the plants were too scared. Not even the wind whispered through the cracked windows and crumbling walls. The entire structure looked lonely and starved of company, and the surrounding forest knew this, but the temples guardian is like fire towards the mothering flora. The guardian is a shadow. Quiet. Deceiving.
One day, a girl of eight walked through the forest. She clutches a stuffed bear to her breast. Her only friend. It took her some time to reach the temple; she paused often, scared of the changes in noise. Her brown eyes finally reached the threatening gaze of the great temple. Silence was the only thing she could feel. Not a bird sang. Not a mouse stirred. Even the crickets halted their tunes.
It was then that the girl realized three things: She wanted desperately to turn and run away, she wanted to hear the forest sing again, and that despite her fear, she couldn't stop pacing forward.
As she wearily waned into the clutches of the lonely palace, something stirred beneath the cracked tiles and dead leaves. It seemed to murmur into the disturbed air, "Go out. Turn around," but the being was conflicted, "never fear the temples ground.." It leaped from column to column, reaching closer to the frightened girl whose arms were locked around the only comfort she could find: the little stuffed bear.
The child was utterly unaware of the shadow that climbed and watched and ached for her companionship. She took step after step...step after step..
Community Member
NIICE