#grimmfate1

There were some aspects of war-- of conflict that you could never leave behind. They returned with no regard for wakefulness as an incorporeal scourge on one’s sanity. Even when you were certain you had at last outrun them, you come to realize that these assiduous shadows stem from you...and that, the brighter the light looming ahead, the darker they become...

The venue he had happened upon offered some small reprieve from this persistent torment-- a sense of serenity and security born from the buds of a lush assortment of blooms that crested the cliffs face. Savior’s Respite, it was called-- a peak accompanied by no ungenerous assortment of local legends. Hidden away from the world, the General thought he might be afforded some small measure of peace here-- at least for long enough that he might re-forge his walls, and enter freshly back into the fray provided some dependable measure of defense.

Dispensing momentarily with the necessity for vigilance, Ironwood permit his eyes to shut, instead turning his senses over to the assortment of spellbinding aromas were carried forth from the tapestry of petals and leaves-- a wealth of vibrancy and life that soon gave way to something darker; a velvety and starless night encroaching...

It turned out that vigilance was not so easily dispelled-- for the slightest sound attuned Ironwood back to the present. His heel clove deep into the dirt as the General turned, his free hand gravitating to an empty holster out of habit-- and he was therein forced to suffice without weaponry to speak of. However, any irritation that might have surfaced at that particular recollection was quickly traded in for trepidation. The soothing silence of an empty aside from the hustle and bustle of Spirale was displaced by the silhouette whom his eyes encountered; bewitching-- positively ethereal in entrance. It was a presence which was irrevocable, as it eclipsed Ironwood’s every effort to suppress his heart’s impulse to answer her arrival.

“No-- impossible.” While no ground would dare to be given before her, disbelief colored the man’s tone in an instant of vulnerability-- soon dispatched in favor of the spite this waking nightmare inspired. But-- that was all it was; he had little doubt. For, this had assuredly not been the first time upon seeing her face where he found himself plagued by apparitions to her likeness. So with an undeserved amount of tenacity did Ironwood offer his retort, his tone emboldened by what amounted to little more than wishful thinking:

“You cannot be. You are nothing but a spectre.”