Dominion
A Salute to Mr Chambers. The concept of "The King in Yellow" plays a pivotal role again.
He looked out with boredom on the tableau before him.
A thousand naked slaves of exceeding beauty flayed one another with wire whips, painting the white marble floor red with oriental writing.
A yawn escaped his throat and he willed himself elsewhere.
Hoarfrost flakes floated on the air like a million frozen fireflies drifting on icy wind.
The courtiers were gone and he was alone with his old friend, nothing. Golden pillars of his court crazed with frigid rime.
Swirls of snow so cold it smoked swirled from his path and he rose from his throne and strode across the gold veined marble.
For amusement he willed one of the courtiers to be with him.
She screamed and fell to the floor shattering into dust which mixed with the icy flotsam.
His fingers like iron spikes rang against the pillars as he passed them.
Air condensed on the surfaces around him and ran in a thousand rivulets of mercury.
There must be something, some little thing to break the tedium, some distraction, some morsel that he had not tasted, some sensation he had not felt. Somewhere that he had not been, there must be something.
An infinite number of possibilities reflected from between the pillars like memories of silvered glass, and from everyone of those he looked back at himself, had always looked back, would always look back.
A feast of every flavor. An orgy of every sensation. An existence of a million possibilities all realized at once.
His only distraction those who evoked him, seeking power which he gladly granted so he could watch it as they rotted from their own vices. Flicking little bits of rotted flesh from their bones.
Such it is, such it was, such it would always be, tattered accouterments blowing in a fell wind.
Icon of decadence.
--
She finds the book. There in an ancient store amidst piles upon piles of moldering titles.
Rays of sunshine cut through dancing dust motes.
It's cover old and threadbare, it reeks of mold dried but lingering, like a dead rat in the attic.
Yellow flat cover amongst polished oxblood and azure. Brown oiled leather tombs and grimoires held closed by shackles and buckles, but it falls open easily, invitingly.
Her hand comes away feeling filthy but there is nothing to mark why.
It is just a simple book Cassilda you are acting as a child, open it and read further.
"Blackened moon set in lavender answers blackened sun.
Dance on the shore of Hastur, and on golden sand run"
The verse was a simple one and not clever at all, but the words haunted her and dragged her eyes back to the dry parchment.
Parchment no one writes a book in parchment anymore.
She turned the book to near the cover, hating the chalk dust feel it gave her.
No date. No author. No publisher.
It was only a book, "The King in Yellow", what a silly name for a silly book.
She smiled to herself and opened the book again.
"Fetid are the trees grown, diseased and near end of life.
Grown fat on rotted things which walked in strife."
Cassilda read the verse three times trying to make sense of it, was this even poetry.
"Walk gently there amongst the ruins of what might be,
leaving your sign with pressed foot and ruined knee"
What was it about this book that drew her on, that drew her thin like a stream of oil on cold water, she felt pulled thin and drawn.
Dominion 3 (the poem is Chambers, the rest is mine)
Casildas Song - Chambers
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead;
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa. -
Casilda scribbled the verse into the inside cover of the book, what strangeness. She laughed at the obvious joke and smiled pleased with herself.
The book had been expensive, and the store owner had seemed overly pleased with himself during the sale.
She hurried home with the book tucked under her arm.
He sister Camilla opened the door to the loft while she fumbled with her keys.
"What have there?"
"A book I found in a little shop in Old Town."
"But you hardly ever read."
"I know but I just had to have it for some strange reason. Look there's a play."
End.
A thousand naked slaves of exceeding beauty flayed one another with wire whips, painting the white marble floor red with oriental writing.
A yawn escaped his throat and he willed himself elsewhere.
Hoarfrost flakes floated on the air like a million frozen fireflies drifting on icy wind.
The courtiers were gone and he was alone with his old friend, nothing. Golden pillars of his court crazed with frigid rime.
Swirls of snow so cold it smoked swirled from his path and he rose from his throne and strode across the gold veined marble.
For amusement he willed one of the courtiers to be with him.
She screamed and fell to the floor shattering into dust which mixed with the icy flotsam.
His fingers like iron spikes rang against the pillars as he passed them.
Air condensed on the surfaces around him and ran in a thousand rivulets of mercury.
There must be something, some little thing to break the tedium, some distraction, some morsel that he had not tasted, some sensation he had not felt. Somewhere that he had not been, there must be something.
An infinite number of possibilities reflected from between the pillars like memories of silvered glass, and from everyone of those he looked back at himself, had always looked back, would always look back.
A feast of every flavor. An orgy of every sensation. An existence of a million possibilities all realized at once.
His only distraction those who evoked him, seeking power which he gladly granted so he could watch it as they rotted from their own vices. Flicking little bits of rotted flesh from their bones.
Such it is, such it was, such it would always be, tattered accouterments blowing in a fell wind.
Icon of decadence.
--
She finds the book. There in an ancient store amidst piles upon piles of moldering titles.
Rays of sunshine cut through dancing dust motes.
It's cover old and threadbare, it reeks of mold dried but lingering, like a dead rat in the attic.
Yellow flat cover amongst polished oxblood and azure. Brown oiled leather tombs and grimoires held closed by shackles and buckles, but it falls open easily, invitingly.
Her hand comes away feeling filthy but there is nothing to mark why.
It is just a simple book Cassilda you are acting as a child, open it and read further.
"Blackened moon set in lavender answers blackened sun.
Dance on the shore of Hastur, and on golden sand run"
The verse was a simple one and not clever at all, but the words haunted her and dragged her eyes back to the dry parchment.
Parchment no one writes a book in parchment anymore.
She turned the book to near the cover, hating the chalk dust feel it gave her.
No date. No author. No publisher.
It was only a book, "The King in Yellow", what a silly name for a silly book.
She smiled to herself and opened the book again.
"Fetid are the trees grown, diseased and near end of life.
Grown fat on rotted things which walked in strife."
Cassilda read the verse three times trying to make sense of it, was this even poetry.
"Walk gently there amongst the ruins of what might be,
leaving your sign with pressed foot and ruined knee"
What was it about this book that drew her on, that drew her thin like a stream of oil on cold water, she felt pulled thin and drawn.
Dominion 3 (the poem is Chambers, the rest is mine)
Casildas Song - Chambers
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead;
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa. -
Casilda scribbled the verse into the inside cover of the book, what strangeness. She laughed at the obvious joke and smiled pleased with herself.
The book had been expensive, and the store owner had seemed overly pleased with himself during the sale.
She hurried home with the book tucked under her arm.
He sister Camilla opened the door to the loft while she fumbled with her keys.
"What have there?"
"A book I found in a little shop in Old Town."
"But you hardly ever read."
"I know but I just had to have it for some strange reason. Look there's a play."
End.
Post Comment
