It was dark, dark in such a way it cancelled out all other definitions of dark. Black clouds shrouding over the wet, soggy land, thunder roaring out like the heavens themselves were clearing they're throat. Rain was being coughed down onto the filthy, mud-slapped ground. The eerie trees bending in the cold violent wind, heaving helplessly from the overwhelming strike of they're master, the wind.
Cart tracks were carved into the face of the road, like an ugly, unforgiving scar of dirt. A weak little cottage sang as the rain clinked off the red mossy tiles of the roof. It tapped away at the window pains adding a clack clack clack to the clink clink clink. This strange melody was an auxiliary to the small pool of light pouring out of the stable, poking a small hole in the ominous atmosphere that was relentlessly assailing it.
By Mete
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