Prophecy

"It's dark, so dark." the voice echoes.

The jet black environment gives no tangible course of action to have any distinction, only letting the darkness writhe around Camuel.

"Hello?" Camuel shouts, or at least he thought he did. There is no noise that came out of Camuel, only his lips mouthing silently, his breath not forming, within the hushed room.

Camuel tries to convey where he is, however his legs are frozen to the seemingly void floor, unable to move from the desolate domain. This concerns Camuel as he feels sweat glide down his face, seeing a hand, and then an arm form from nothing, silently gesturing him to come towards it.

This brings a wide grin from Camuel, fear dissipating from his mind, with Camuel's once stone-ridden legs now marching towards the hand. As Camuel is trudging towards the unknown presence, the darkness in the room only grows more, with each step giving way to less light inhabiting the plane.

The thumping of his feet in the darkness comes to a sudden halt, with Camuel only arms length away from the dimly lit hand, still motioning to come closer.

Camuel's movement stops, and becomes tense as sharp, viridescent vines slowly protrude from the tip of the dingy looking fingers. The feeling of dread overwhelms Camuel as the vine trails towards him, keeping a steady line almost as if there was no gravity to make it droop.

Fright keeps hold of Camuel, with his mind telling him to move, but his body keeping him at bay, as the slender greenery moves ever closer.

"It's dark, so dark." Camuel hears over and over, reverberating all over the place, as vines start to wrap around him, piercing the achilles and sole of his feet.

Camuel has never felt this type of pain before, and even though he is desperately trying to scream out, he cannot conjure any noise that looms from his throat. The only thing he felt was the vines growing upwards, the sensation of jagged teeth curling and ripping, keeping a tight grip upon the skin.

All he can do is watch as the agitated vines shed his blood, growing closer and closer to his face as the pain threshold gets harder and harder to endure.

The sharp needles of the vine come to an end at Camuel's neck, puncturing his esophagus. The taste of iron fills Camuel's throat, making his body shake in panic and lips quivering in fear, ears violently damaged from the barrage of echoes.

A heavy bellowed laughter comes from the direction of the hand, and after three seconds silence starts to overlap.

An anguished feeling in Camuel's heart leaves tears streaming down his face, dripping from his chin and dropping onto the floor, only to quickly bring to a stop by the hand that's clutching the vines, yanking it like a chain.

It starts pulling Camuel closer into the void while pricking and penetrating his skin, completely crushing his windpipe. As the hand sifts through the blackness, so does Camuel, starting with his arm, then leg, then torso, and lastly his head as it plunges into darkness.

WHAM! Camuel smacked his head on the wooden tiles, his eyes open abruptly, mouth gasping for air as he sat up. Camuel looks around, face soaked from sweat and head feeling bruised, he realizes that this is just his room, the freshly done walls and the glossy ashen floorboards definitely depicts the chamber he resides in. This reassurance does not calm Camuel down however, as he shivers, his face white with fear, as if he had seen death itself.

"That was a dream, right? Just a dream, it was just a dream, even though it hurt, and it felt real. It wasn't real. I am ok."

It takes a while to calm himself down, still disturbed by what he just went through. Moments later a knocking is heard on the other side of Camuel's door. "Are you ok master Camuel?" the voice on the other side says.

There is hesitation "Y-yes I am fine Mary, you can leave." Camuel's voice trembled as he talked, feeling sick when trying to stand up from the wood floor.

"Are you sure cause I hear-"

"I said you can leave!" Camuel snaps, the feeling of dread still residing within him.

Dead silence fills the air, and after a couple of seconds the footsteps of Mary start to depart, emanating less and less behind the door.

Camuel's fear subsided and he started to become himself again. "She dosen't fucking know when to leave me alone. I really wished they had just gotten someone more quiet for the job." Camuel inwardly says as he checks the time on the pendulum clock. The clock shows it to be 6 o'clock, "I guess I have two hours, I just need a shower."

With this thought Camuel starts walking towards another door opposite to the other and opens it, revealing a nice marble countertop with cerulean tile flooring, along with a shower and toilet, both spotless.

Camuel heads inside the shower and takes his time, experiencing the refreshing hot water overlapping the displeased feeling that still resided in him. After a certain amount of time he turned off the water and headed out of the shower, using his towel to dry him off.

Once done he heads to the wardrobe. The wardrobe consists of only dark and edgy looking clothes, they consist of black, and very little gray. Camuel quickly puts on some clothes, picking the first that comes to mind, and starts to leave the room.

Camuel departs from his room and onto a balcony, where a place for his parents and a place for the servants inhabit.

The curved railing has etchings of lions with fluffed out mains, hovering over a library stacked to the brim with books, and a nearby kitchen which has everything a cook could wish for. Two staircases on either side spiral down with ebony oak plastered onto the steps.

Camuel heads down, the aroma of blueberries with a mix of fried eggs, surfacing towards his nostrils. This however Camuel loathes. "He knows I dislike eggs, what purpose is there to make something that I won't eat?"

At the bottom floor not only is there a library and a kitchen, but also a sizable dining room with a dazzling chandelier above it, and a living room complete with newspapers, some books on a table, and chairs that are made for comfort.

"Hey, you're up early." a voice from the dining table says.

It is Camuel's dad, with an overly formal seating position. Glasses droop a bit off his fathers face, and even though you can tell that he is getting older, his unpigmented skin has not been aging with him.

"Ya, what of it?" Camuel expresses.

"Oh, I was just curious as to why you were up so early. I guess kids these days don't know the importance of sleep anymore." This brings up laughter from his dad, requiring Camuel to put his hand up to his face, clearly in disappointment.

"Well anyways breakfast will be made pretty soon. I can only imagine how hungry you are." His dad commented in a light hearted tone.

"I dislike eggs. You know this."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad. How else are you gonna keep the integrity of your hair well, especially with dark brown hair like yours."

"Why do you still believe that? It was just in a fairytale, it's not meant to be taken seriously."

"You never know, better safe than sorry." Again the laughter of his dad makes Camuel sigh and walk away from the conversation, instead going to the library.

After some time reading, a shout from the kitchen is heard by Camuel, "It is breakfast time!"

Camuel looks at who it was that said that, looking towards the sound. It was by a personal chef named Liam.

Camuel wants no part of eating that foul tasting food, and tries to stay in the library, continuing where he left off.

A voice from the top of the balcony says, "Camuel, are you not going to eat with the rest of us?" This was his mom, having a more endearing tone. Camuel's mom gave off a vibrant mood that can be plainly seen in her choice of clothing. The skin and hair are both kept in good shape from constant care, with the skin having more tan pigmentation and the hair color dark brown like a pinecone.

Camuel really did not want to eat that crap, but the soft eyes of his mother persuades him. "I guess if that's what you want."

"Marvelous, I know you don't like eggs but your company is all that matters."

The book that Camuel was reading closes, and is put back onto the shelf.