athenaartisan

Aenakei sighed slowly, his wiry fingers trembling over the spine of the ancient monograph. His pale skin terribly clammy in the light, the sheen off his skin glistening in the illumination of the myriad of candles. Each one he had painstakingly lit, till the room was bright and the temperature had risen substantially. The shadows that quivered and jumped along the walls made him wince, taunting him. Even his own shadow took part in this hellish provocation. The chalk writing that roamed over the floor boards in curious flowing patterns wove around his bare feet, where the same symbols and patterns were mirrored on his flesh. Aenakei closed hi