3 The Town

Movement, brick houses, and cobbled streets stretching ahead. I'm in the middle of a town square draped in colorful banners and ribbons, etched from roof to roof embracing this open space in which a lanky black effigy stands erect, striding against its vibrant surroundings. The buildings are waking as their inhabitants make themselves known as the sun's rays start bathing through this almost empty square, windows and doors opening for a new day.

The ground feels rough against my feet, I wonder what I'll see wandering through this town as it seems to be preparing for some kind of event. The streets are stretching and turning in between numerous different buildings, some tall, some broad, some with big panes of glass that displays different types of foods and contraptions, some with pointed fences and gates, even some with flowerbeds draping the sides of inconspicuous doors and beneath windows with their blinds closed. The air around me smells of a mix of odors tickling my nose with its subtle nuances, some sweet, some smoky, some smooth, some sharp.

In front of me, a stone building towering the rest, reaching up towards the sky-piercing the top of the houses around this increasingly bustling street. I wonder what's on top? From what I can see there are some archways towards the top holding what must be the roof. That sound, clinging ringing vibrant tunes through the air, spreading through the streets and its people. I see this must be what is called a bell tower, a building made to mark certain times of day, in addition to warnings of coming disasters. I wonder how the bell looks, I might as well. The cool air lashes against my face as my wings carry me upwards towards the four archways, the dark stone used from the ground up feels cold to the touch, I wonder what type of material it is? I have not seen anything like it in Harry's books yet.

The bell in front, an obsidian metal almost absorbing light itself, like the abyss given a hard shell, it almost seems alluring, should I try touching it? But there is something, just at the back of my mind, I don't know, some sort of high pitch ringing behind my ears, I will try to, it should be fine. "argh!" My feet, I'm tumbling, my hand! My hand! NO, the air the fall I need to stop! "hgh" Just in time, barely cushioned the fall, that bell it was burning, transmitting this blinding heat trough my body, what was that? My head is spinning, my skin feels damp clinging to the sundress, the palm of my hand, it stings. What is this? The right palm, a dark red shape of a bell branded against my white skin... no way.

I should get myself up, the street is getting more and more filled as time passes by. Those people, I wonder just how many are actually left beyond the door? Harry has never gone into much detail, he has never mentioned meeting any other survivors, I should ask him... next time... when he, my vision grows blurry again against this cold clutch of anxiety, will there be a next time?

"Mom, that girl looks sad." To the corner, a little boy and his mother, he's so small.

"What girl sweety?"

"The winged one, by the tower." Another one, my heart, what does it mean to be seen, does it matter?

"Did Marcus tell you one too many bedtime stories?"

"But she's right there." right here, right now.

"There's no one there, now let's get going, your fathers waiting for us at the store." Am I no more than an omen?

Down the street, it opens up in a circle of water with a small island in the middle of all these constructs of wood metal, and cobble, a lonely island with a singular tree, broad and arching with its leaves hanging in long light green strands with an almost golden tint, breaking any light falling through into tiny glittering specs on a weeping hill, a kept bastion of the nature outside this town's walls. There is one small bridge leading to that island right in front of me at the end of this street, I should appreciate it closer, it is like... no, it is drawing me to it.

Its bark, rough and old, it must have been here even before the town itself, I can sense it, the short pulses of life within, I wonder if it might still be here? If the world changes for the better might I get to see it in person... if it's still, beating with life by then if that day comes. I should head back to that square I started in... there's a lot of sounds and chatter being carried through the air from there. The effigy, those banners, and ribbons, maybe it is some sort of festival going on? Defined in one of Harry's books as a period of celebration based on cultural traditions or religions. I wonder how this one will be?

People have gathered around the effigy dressed in all manner of colors, humming and dancing hand in hand creating layered circles around it, flutes and pipes flowing in unison to the turns. They are speeding up as the humming and pipes turn up to a vibrant choir layering the scape of this town with its tunes. As the tunes reach their peak it all suddenly falls silent as drums start making themselves heard from down the street. There's a group of people carrying a chair with a person draped from head to toe, shrouded by a white cloak sprouting stiff prosthetic wings, and holding a blazing torch in his or her's left hand. The people who had all previously been holding hands have now split up creating a clear walkway to that dark lanky shape.

Now as they're in front, the person is stepping down from the chair, approaching the shape with its torch held high, the flames catching on quickly. That lanky effigy is now engulfed in a consuming inferno and it is almost like it and the shrouded one is the only one's present, the abyss, it snuck up at me again just now... that garb and that effigy, what can it mean?

My eyes are open, back to the reality of the room, "ugh", I feel sick and my palm is stinging... wait, it's stinging? That dark red brand is still there, how? How is this possible? Why? Never before. Has something changed? What does it mean?