The Enchantment

2 mins read

The moors belong to another time. Our sun never shines here. The rook like castle that is perched on the hill has been desolate since eons, just like its sole inhabitant. Trapped in one moment in the fabric of eternity, she calls out with all her heart. To her surprise, someone answers.  He, who exists in another dimension.


The clock struck twelve.

He woke up aroused and aching. He had heard those silken whispers again. Always at the same time.

“Who are you?” He asked the empty room.

 Fat drops of rain lashed at his window. A sudden streak of lightening lit up his table where a souvenir lay. A white powder neatly stacked in rows.

“Who brought this?” he wondered. He had been clean for a decade.

He turned away from the temptation, but his hand trembled.


He stood inside a pristine castle. The relentless rain had followed him here, crashing hard over the turrets as the wind keened in the passages.

The torches had burnt out long ago, steeping the hallways in gloom.

 A single fat candle burnt in her room, fluttering in the pools of melted wax. She lay on the bed wearing nothing but a necklace of rubies. A gem dipped seductively into the valley of her creamy bosom. Her lips were blood red. So were her eyes.

She moaned and a primal heat stirred in his loins, drenching him in desire. In no time, he was beside her, caressing her soft wetness. A red haze covered his senses and he ceased to think. She was writhing below him. He knew he was lost. 


He was in his own bed, tormented by his yearning.

Who was she? Why did she haunt his dreams? 

“She isn’t real!” He murmured. 

But the bruises over his neck told another tale.


She teased him in sleep until he could not stay away. Theirs was a love story that transcended time. That night, he walked to the table like a man possessed and keep snorting the white powder as the clock struck twelve gongs, never realising his mouth had started to froth.


Moonlight streamed in her room, as she stood before him magnificent and unclad. Thick red curls cascaded down her waist, teasing her creamy skin. Her lips bore his teeth marks. He pushed her on the stone seat by the window and mounted her, both hungry and sated at once.

“Thank you.” She said, her red eyes leisurely turning blue. Like his.

He never realised when she shoved him down. All he remembered was her laugh as the fog usurped him whole.


He looked through the windows, the melancholy seeping into his bones. The eerie fog clung to his soul enslaving him here. The castle grounds rolled and folded over and over like a well-kept secret. The doors opened into the stretches of moor that climbed steeply toward the clouds. He closed his eyes and keened for her.

She never returned.


Photo by unsplash.

This is an entry for the event #twelve #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room.

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Event sponsored by The Archaic House

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