The warrior paused under the broken arch. Golden light streamed down before him, illuminating a lost world. He closed his eyes and, again, the place was as it should be. As it had once been.
He walked down a long corridor. A rich, red carpet ran beneath his booted feet. From his left, bright sunshine poured in through high windows while white-wicked candles stood in the chandeliers overhead, waiting for the dark of night. On his right, the wall was hung with ten tall, narrow tapestries depicting the realm’s expulsion of barbarian invaders forty years before. Priceless works of art lined both sides of the hall: orange and black urns, white faced busts of the ancients, and tiny, marble statuettes. They stood on short, wooden pedestals positioned evenly all along the hall in the empty spaces between each window and tapestry. In his mind the warrior strode amongst them, following the story of the tapestries.
He opened his eyes. Fingers once sweaty and covered in blood but now only pale with dust held loosely to his sword. The corridor behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see the carpet to now be faded and torn rag, marred with dirt and grime. Scattered near the walls were the broken fragments of pedestals, statues and urns. The glass was gone from the windows, the tapestries were no more, and through the hole where the roof had once been he could glimpse tall trees and the bright blue sky.
Back through the broken arch--
The next chamber’s still intact roof was spotted with holes. Shafts of sunlight struck down from several of these. Their beams cloudy with dust, they revealed a floor littered with broken stones and fallen roof tiles. Though they did not strike it directly, it was by these beams of light that the warrior saw the throne upon its dais. Its back was broken, cleaved in two, and its seat was empty and vacant.
The warrior stared at the throne. It was a simple affair, made of local oak, which still evoked a sense of regality despite its current, broken state. Looking at it, the warrior was filled with thoughts of glory and grandeur, majesty, might, justice
and God’s righteousness.
The shafts of sunlight dotting the chamber dimmed as a cloud passed over the sun. When it had moved on the sunlight reappeared, shooting down into the chamber in a new array of patterns. One of these new shafts fell on the throne, seeming to dance like gold across its arms and back and empty seat.
His lips turning up at the sight, the warrior smiled. One day, the angels seemed to say, his lost and ruined realm would be found. One day, it would be restored.
He walked down a long corridor. A rich, red carpet ran beneath his booted feet. From his left, bright sunshine poured in through high windows while white-wicked candles stood in the chandeliers overhead, waiting for the dark of night. On his right, the wall was hung with ten tall, narrow tapestries depicting the realm’s expulsion of barbarian invaders forty years before. Priceless works of art lined both sides of the hall: orange and black urns, white faced busts of the ancients, and tiny, marble statuettes. They stood on short, wooden pedestals positioned evenly all along the hall in the empty spaces between each window and tapestry. In his mind the warrior strode amongst them, following the story of the tapestries.
He opened his eyes. Fingers once sweaty and covered in blood but now only pale with dust held loosely to his sword. The corridor behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see the carpet to now be faded and torn rag, marred with dirt and grime. Scattered near the walls were the broken fragments of pedestals, statues and urns. The glass was gone from the windows, the tapestries were no more, and through the hole where the roof had once been he could glimpse tall trees and the bright blue sky.
Back through the broken arch--
The next chamber’s still intact roof was spotted with holes. Shafts of sunlight struck down from several of these. Their beams cloudy with dust, they revealed a floor littered with broken stones and fallen roof tiles. Though they did not strike it directly, it was by these beams of light that the warrior saw the throne upon its dais. Its back was broken, cleaved in two, and its seat was empty and vacant.
The warrior stared at the throne. It was a simple affair, made of local oak, which still evoked a sense of regality despite its current, broken state. Looking at it, the warrior was filled with thoughts of glory and grandeur, majesty, might, justice
and God’s righteousness.
The shafts of sunlight dotting the chamber dimmed as a cloud passed over the sun. When it had moved on the sunlight reappeared, shooting down into the chamber in a new array of patterns. One of these new shafts fell on the throne, seeming to dance like gold across its arms and back and empty seat.
His lips turning up at the sight, the warrior smiled. One day, the angels seemed to say, his lost and ruined realm would be found. One day, it would be restored.