This post was inspired by the latest #literarygames challenge from @allentaylor - the goal this time is to build a story around three very peculiar and particular sentences, in any genre of your choice.
I thought I'd try a little Gothic tale, as it's a genre I haven't dipped into for quite a while. The story itself is very, very loosely based on some events that happened in a vampire MMORG I played in many, many years ago....
Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio
It had been raining for days. It felt like forever.
The citizens of Ravenblack City scuttled about their business, or trudged through the rain. It didn't matter, they still ended up soaked no matter what stratagems they used in an attempt to stay dry. The low clouds made day into night, and night into a moonless black pit of water.
All the while, the wind blew harsh from the north, driving the rain horizontally. Periodically, thunder and lightning would illuminate the dark streets, reflecting off the shining wet surfaces of old brick and tarmac.
After a fortnight, a storm greater still erupted. The sky cracked open, but no one seemed surprised. The incessant driving rain had numbed the senses. Humans can get used to anything.
With their heads bowed down to shield their faces from the freezing downpour, no-one seemed to notice that this particular flash of lightning had left... someone.... standing on the street.
A woman. Indeterminate of age, but tall, slender and beautiful. She was clad all in black; a long oilskin trenchcoat, a waxed hood drawn up covering her sable hair.
The woman set off down the centre of the soaked street. She spoke to no-one, her boots sinking into the water with a dancer's gait making not a single splash. She carried her silence like a weapon, heavier than a two-handed sword. The two-handed sword she carried bared on her right shoulder.
For a day and a night the woman stalked through the city. Her cold, relentless eyes moved constantly. Eyes that were focused on a purpose; hateful eyes. Though she was clearly looking for something or someone, she didn't ask anyone anything, and none was brave enough to approach her.
Finally, having found nothing, she sought a room at the Demon's Heart Inn, just south of Urania Station. She didn't stop at the bar, she simply paid and went up the narrow stairway to her room.
In the morning, she was gone. No-one had seen her leave.
They found the note tucked inside a shoe, written in a language no one remembered learning. It wasn't her shoe; the landlord recalled they'd been left in the wardrobe by a previous guest who had left in a hurry.
The script was precise, ancient. The characters were more like syllabic pictograms than letters, but somehow they made sense to the readers.
The message was simple, and it was chilling.
"I seek the vampire Lucius. If any know where he can be found, place a note in this shoe. I will see it, and you will be appropriately rewarded. I seek him not to kill him, but to drive him to madness and despair."