Amizeth places his candle into the freshly carved pumpkin and is greeted by the scent of sandalwood and hinoki. The flame burns bright white, even as the smoke that ribbons off of the burning wick wafts through the air in shades of soot-black. It’s quiet and peaceful, the atmosphere pleasant and the aroma soothing.
Lightning strikes overhead, and when Amizeth looks down there’s a page clenched tightly in his fingers that certainly was not there moments prior. A phantom drumbeat kicks up in his ears, accompanied by the distant crackle of static. Thunder booms finally booms in the wake of its companion, and with it comes the feeling of dread that settles deep in the gut.
no subject
no subject
Lightning strikes overhead, and when Amizeth looks down there’s a page clenched tightly in his fingers that certainly was not there moments prior. A phantom drumbeat kicks up in his ears, accompanied by the distant crackle of static. Thunder booms finally booms in the wake of its companion, and with it comes the feeling of dread that settles deep in the gut.
Seven pages to go. Better start running.