There is a thread that runs through insanity, elusive and tenuous. If one could just take hold.....they would become lucid.
Sunlight cut through the thick of trees, a shaft of golden ray touching upon the rooftop of the old house recently refurbished.
The tiles were expertly placed, one leading to the other in logical sequence.
The room beneath the roof was an attic worthy of remodeling into a studio apartment, though it wasn't, it was dusty, cobwebs lacing the corners, and trunks that had sat in the same spot for decades.
Stairs led to the second story where a hall of some length displayed door after door of rooms, each one done in a different color, a theme of sorts. All the doors were white, save one. It was black with splashes of color in an array of designs and symbols.
Insanity contained within four walls, brilliance brushed over canvas that caught that sliver within all that knew they too, could go insane, if not for those safeguards that kept things in check. Safeguards that, once removed, unleashed a myriad of dark delights and uncompromising truths which could never be shared in any way that made sense.
Within the room of insanity and brilliance was another, darker room. No sunlight could reach, no other could breach. It was where she slept, where she evacuated this existence and no longer held contact with those on this plane.
Tonight, she would be alone. It was the full moon. Stefan would do as he must. He would shift, and hunt, and she would be left to her own devices. The streets would beckon her, blood would bid her to feed, the pulses of those who knew nothing more than revelry and pitiful existence of work, play, work, play until they grew old, shriveled up and died the final death.
As the day grew longer, the rise of energy from those of the lycan persuasion would seem to permeate the air around every being. Even the undead. Even the insane.
There is a thread that runs through insanity, elusive and tenuous. If one could just take hold.....they would become lucid.
