It’s so bright. Her golden eyes blink into the sunlight filtering through the trees and glinting off of murky water. And even as she watches the life-giving sun, shadowy fingers creep across the sky. The melody begins, the lilts and lulls somehow matching the writhing shadows. Tha-dum, tha-dum. She can feel the deep drumming in her very bones, relaxing her even as the world turns dark. She wakes to a song, haunting and eerie. The swamp has lost all color, the trees their leaves. The only sound is the peculiar tune. Her eyes take in this strange new swamp. Where has all the color gone? The vibrant hues, the subtle shades? She struggles to her feet, legs wobbly and weak. One step –thum. Another - tha-dam. The doe begins walking and the drum beats match her steps. ThadumbadumthumthadumthadumbumbadumbadumTHUMP. She lets out a helpless giggle, unable to contain a little thrill of exhilaration as the thumps complement her movement. An experimental step forward- bum. A more forceful one – baDUM. An excited squeal escapes her throat as she bounces around, dancing to the melody her body is making, thrilling in the excitement and vitality of it. The shades which had earlier enveloped her once more began to match the harmony.
Who needs color when you have this beautiful sound?
So excited is the little doe she fails to hear it – a jarring tune, screechy and angry, slinking underneath her cheerful melody. The shadows dancing around the grayscale trees begin to take on jagged shapes, their movements becoming threatening. But the little Kimeti was lost in her exhilaration, twirling gracefully until one of the malicious tentacles latches onto her leg. Her golden eyes grow wide and a soundless screech works its way out of her throat. Once one finds ground, the others twist around her body in a gruesome parody of the doe’s dance. There’s no more music now, only the cacophonous melody of dying creatures and angry spirits screaming a sad imitation of the earlier beauty.
The sinister appendages make their way up her body, forcing themselves down her open mouth, gagging the doe. The beautiful tune starts again; the one that she had made, full of life and eagerness. Her eyes drift closed and she focuses on the song, her glorious song, desperately ignoring the creeping shadows as they slide across her fur. It’s a lovely little nocturne, isn’t it? Just a lovely little nocturne – a charming little nocturne of shadows.