The forgotten composition. (Spirit Hunt)
Jan 10, 2024 16:16:40 GMT
Post by svetlanakuznetsov on Jan 10, 2024 16:16:40 GMT
The tune in her head tugged and pulled at the edges of Svetlana’s consciousness, pulling her steps, guiding her feet, as she walked through the depths of Old Terminus. Her eyes scanned the darkened streets around her, looking at the occasional Digimon she saw going to and fro on chores or other personal business. She was very much out of place, being a simple human alone and with little means of defending herself. An empty Digivice and a simple Cello were not going to do much to a Digimon.
The tune in her mind, an infectious rhythm that forced her to him, grew louder and more demanding the further she walked through the streets of Old Terminus until….it stopped. The tune cut out completely, going silent and still, as she finally made her way towards a ruined building that looked just like every other building here. However, as Svetlana stepped to the door and brushed moss off a simple plaque she realised what this building was.
“Hm…the Terminal Opera House….” She read the name on the plaque out loud, speaking to herself in this lonely square, before taking a deep breath. With boldness, she stepped forwards and pushed open the door. It creaked and groaned with discomfort, the ancient wood groaning under the strain of opening after so long, but it revealed the moulded wood and dirty once crimson carpet of the entrance nonetheless.
It was time to live dangerously Svetlana thought, as she walked into the lobby of the Opera hall, boots disturbing the dust below. She looked at the abandoned reception desk, tilting her head sideways, trying and failing to make out the names of the performances that had once been played here. Alas, they were impossible to read. The relentless march of time had moulded the paper and ruined the ink. A shame. She would have loved to discover forgotten musicians of the Digital World.
“Through streets of the buried past, over and under ruined arches, down roads of red, walk the path and finish the composition.” Svetlana’s head began to pound, a thumping headache intruding, forcing her to clamp her eyes shut and pinch the bridge of her nose but she continued to step forwards. Even as she opened her eyes, the darkness of the abandoned building made seeing where she was going utterly impossible. It was only when she walked head long into something, stumbling back and falling onto her butt, that she would realise she was not alone here.
“I apologise! Who is there? I can not see in the darkness.” An apologetic but well rehearsed smile decorated Svetlana’s face. She was not expecting whoever, or whatever it was, she had walked into to be capable of seeing her face though. It was pitch black in this ruined opera house after all.
(475 words)
The tune in her mind, an infectious rhythm that forced her to him, grew louder and more demanding the further she walked through the streets of Old Terminus until….it stopped. The tune cut out completely, going silent and still, as she finally made her way towards a ruined building that looked just like every other building here. However, as Svetlana stepped to the door and brushed moss off a simple plaque she realised what this building was.
“Hm…the Terminal Opera House….” She read the name on the plaque out loud, speaking to herself in this lonely square, before taking a deep breath. With boldness, she stepped forwards and pushed open the door. It creaked and groaned with discomfort, the ancient wood groaning under the strain of opening after so long, but it revealed the moulded wood and dirty once crimson carpet of the entrance nonetheless.
It was time to live dangerously Svetlana thought, as she walked into the lobby of the Opera hall, boots disturbing the dust below. She looked at the abandoned reception desk, tilting her head sideways, trying and failing to make out the names of the performances that had once been played here. Alas, they were impossible to read. The relentless march of time had moulded the paper and ruined the ink. A shame. She would have loved to discover forgotten musicians of the Digital World.
“Through streets of the buried past, over and under ruined arches, down roads of red, walk the path and finish the composition.” Svetlana’s head began to pound, a thumping headache intruding, forcing her to clamp her eyes shut and pinch the bridge of her nose but she continued to step forwards. Even as she opened her eyes, the darkness of the abandoned building made seeing where she was going utterly impossible. It was only when she walked head long into something, stumbling back and falling onto her butt, that she would realise she was not alone here.
“I apologise! Who is there? I can not see in the darkness.” An apologetic but well rehearsed smile decorated Svetlana’s face. She was not expecting whoever, or whatever it was, she had walked into to be capable of seeing her face though. It was pitch black in this ruined opera house after all.
(475 words)
