A Lost Time

The prickly crunch of leaves is evident under leather boots. Travellers scarcely tread here; the sudden coldness of the area never fails to draw a shudder, or fleeting glance at the ivory-covered mansion with its caved in roof and dilapidated walls. Washed away by the torrent of time, it seems to fit with the silence of the hollow, much like the grass snake that slithers slowly through the unfriendly underbrush...


So strange how the vibrancy of the sun’s glare seems foreign, unwelcome in this secluded grove. So strange that even the ancient trees seek to block its intruding gaze. Wise. Day or night. Darkness clings to the scene, to the leaves of the charred oak, who rules the rest with a mass of solidity.

Here there are secrets...

Whispers carry through the wind – century old messages. Few have seen the cursed home, fewer still the lingering shadows in the opaque windows, cracked, gazing knowingly down at them. Silence.

Why does every account forget this area?

Much like time...