The Embarking
CatchDaTaste
"Dark Magic is always risky and unpredictable."
My life changed forever the night my Father walked in the door, uttered those words, and placed the frighteningly radiant flame and its eerie purple hue in our hearth.
"What is that?" I asked innocently.
"The Sacred Flame..." he whispered hoarsely, his gaze unfocused and his thoughts prisoner to a time or a place far, far away from our family room.
I lost my Father that night; sure, he walked out our door a year ago today, never to be seen again. But truthfully, my Father has not been my Father for 15 years, since the night that lamentable inferno - the one forged in The White Tower (by White Magic?) - entered our lives.
Endless hours, sometimes days, my Father sat in his chair by the hearth, gazing into the fire and barely acknowledging his family around him, often mumbling, "...Meeerliiin" and "Puurple" in a catatonic whisper.
My mind wanders to Purple Magic, and the Purple Hat the great Merlin wears, but the meaning escapes me. My Father rarely said anything more than those words.
And so it is that I set out into the world, painfully uncertain about what I'm searching for. I cannot say why I woke up one morning, snatched the flame from its perch and placed it within my very being. I have not even set forth and the weight if this conflagration is unspeakably heavy.
But my Father sat idle and it drove him mad. Though the journey will undoubtedly be perilous, I seek only knowledge and understanding, even if in the end, I am consumed by the blaze...
A rider with a jack-o-lantern head sits before a glowing hearth, the carved pumpkin’s jagged smile and triangular eyes flickering with an inner purple fire. On the side of the pumpkin, a faintly glowi...
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A rider with a jack-o-lantern head sits before a glowing hearth, the carved pumpkin’s jagged smile and triangular eyes flickering with an inner purple fire. On the side of the pumpkin, a faintly glowi...
The Embarking
CatchDaTaste
"Dark Magic is always risky and unpredictable."
My life changed forever the night my Father walked in the door, uttered those words, and placed the frighteningly radiant flame and its eerie purple hue in our hearth.
"What is that?" I asked innocently.
"The Sacred Flame..." he whispered hoarsely, his gaze unfocused and his thoughts prisoner to a time or a place far, far away from our family room.
I lost my Father that night; sure, he walked out our door a year ago today, never to be seen again. But truthfully, my Father has not been my Father for 15 years, since the night that lamentable inferno - the one forged in The White Tower (by White Magic?) - entered our lives.
Endless hours, sometimes days, my Father sat in his chair by the hearth, gazing into the fire and barely acknowledging his family around him, often mumbling, "...Meeerliiin" and "Puurple" in a catatonic whisper.
My mind wanders to Purple Magic, and the Purple Hat the great Merlin wears, but the meaning escapes me. My Father rarely said anything more than those words.
And so it is that I set out into the world, painfully uncertain about what I'm searching for. I cannot say why I woke up one morning, snatched the flame from its perch and placed it within my very being. I have not even set forth and the weight if this conflagration is unspeakably heavy.
But my Father sat idle and it drove him mad. Though the journey will undoubtedly be perilous, I seek only knowledge and understanding, even if in the end, I am consumed by the blaze...
