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It was impossible to say at what moment the sun had crept above the horizon, the blanket of white mist that filled the valley obscured such details. But somewhere, at some point, the sun did rise, slowly turning the landscape from darkness to a surreal and shadowless white.
A single, narrow band of blackness snakes through the undulating white landscape. Beginning in the lee of a rocky outcrop, a narrow stream snakes through the snow; a sharp line of blackness in the stark white landscape.
Beside the stream stands a long dead sentinel, the flesh beneath its ancient armour blackened and twisted from the colds long touch, its armour frosted and heaped with fresh falls of snow.
Within the stream another figure, Ophelia, consumed with madness, lies bobbing below the surface. Her stark blonde hair forms a curled halo around her, shifting in the icy current as if caught on a breeze. Her naked form a deathly pale blue-white, as if carved from some strange stone.
She lies, watched over by the dead and eyeless guardian, far from the quiet paths of the snowy mountains, not dead. But dreaming.
A single, narrow band of blackness snakes through the undulating white landscape. Beginning in the lee of a rocky outcrop, a narrow stream snakes through the snow; a sharp line of blackness in the stark white landscape.
Beside the stream stands a long dead sentinel, the flesh beneath its ancient armour blackened and twisted from the colds long touch, its armour frosted and heaped with fresh falls of snow.
Within the stream another figure, Ophelia, consumed with madness, lies bobbing below the surface. Her stark blonde hair forms a curled halo around her, shifting in the icy current as if caught on a breeze. Her naked form a deathly pale blue-white, as if carved from some strange stone.
She lies, watched over by the dead and eyeless guardian, far from the quiet paths of the snowy mountains, not dead. But dreaming.