The Silence Of A Nocturnal Serenade

《01》To you, my sacred soul...

Pain cuts like blades no one can see...
Wounds may not always be physical. Grief suffocating.
Loneliness is a sea without shore...time slowing for the aching hearts of those who wish to scream until their soul shatters into empty husks...

Lost but not forgotten.
You're not alone...

~°□ • Fall || Solar year 757 Sol 78 • □°~
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Silence in peace — a winter's fog held back by seasons yet to change within moments of sheltered solitude.
Serene night still painted the sky in hues of deep blue and pale silver only seen by the clouded light above vast lands along the never-ending horizon.

The forest lay in songs of distant crickets, melodies played by the wind rustling through blades of green grass, brambles along the underbrush, and the tall, sturdy trees whispering thanks with leaves long turned to shades of near pumpkin orange, yellow, and reds so deep they almost mimicked tones of rich plum.
Strokes of early morning were like an overlay to the canvas of nature, the forest a sea among land — a call to nestled creatures weary in rest.

The weaker branches creak in that gentle breeze, reaching high up to the fading stars and dark sky in greeting to clouds that rolled over the set moon and its bed of tall, mountainous horizons.

A peace yearned for in dim imaginations...still, it remained mostly unseen to that of a mind long curious and tattered.

A world long unexplored by faint memories.

A wooded clearing sat in locked off pastures cradled by a worn path and those tall, warmly painted trees speckled with fading hues of green — a quaint and quiet oak cabin settled with small gardens, and an empty side stable; built by crafted hands as an escape from the bustling towns and the souls lost in them, it lay a narrow beacon for those minded few who knew of its existence. Smoke bellowed its faint life through the chimney of old, worn bricks to rise and fade into the sky beyond the canopy of leaves.

A forest of secrets settled into earth.
Resting notions in waves of shaded greenery dancing by pinpoints they were held with.
Windows were dim and glossy, large logs holding neat imperfections and safety from harsh weather. Chips and marks and rings of life making the eye dance in intricate patterns, the many stories those trees could share over centuries of lost time.

The inside was just as quaint, just as quiet with simple spaces and little decoration. Purpose and functionality in those open floors no one yet occupied aside from the dim crackles of a dying fire weeping for attention.

A darkened room near the back was met with the rustling of a turned page, a soft notion joined by the exhale of a wary soul.

Moonlight spilled through open curtains as the only source of light in the small quarters of silky shadows, reaching out onto the floor like a friend wanting to help.
Short, waxy candles with the faint fragrance of lavander remained cold and unlit, resting on the desk as their warmth wouldn't help. That desk seemed like a getaway, tucked in the corner of the room under a thin shelf adorned with five well-worn books marked with the bearings of many readings, small boxes, a few smooth rocks, and trinkets. It was the impression of an unkempt workspace, a reflection of quiet time spent in study.

Adjacent sat a trunk, its lid worn with faded marks of paint and hints of age; the inside housing herbology supplies, dried herbs, light potions, and various tools needed for the craft.

Simple on the outside, this little station was, but in truth a treasure trove of knowledge and potential remedies, all semi-neatly organized.

The warmth had long settled what belies in its emptiness. A space filled with the traces of a life lived in solitude and the pursuit of knowledge.