Amalia
the archangel
she does not know what it's like
not to have deep emotions
not to have deep emotions
Her excitement at participating quickly flutters into anxiety as the expectant faces turn towards her, eager for a story. Never one for public speaking, Amalia quickly regrets her course of action; still, she swallows and licks her lips, searching her brain for something that might serve to entertain the small crowd.
"Okay- this is a story my mother told me, when I was very young." Leaning forward, the Archangel attempts to capture a little bit of the magic that always seemed to accompany her mother's tales. "My Ma was a healer back in the Hollowed Grounds. One night she'd been working until long after the sun went down and had nearly risen again, when she heard a knock at the infirmary door. It was close to LongNight, and she was wary, but she would never turn a patient away. So she went and opened the door up, just a crack, and peered into the night.
"Outside, Ma could make out a dark silhouette but couldn't see their face. 'Please, Doctor Chandrakant,' the figure said, 'My wife is pregnant and she's very ill.' Now, Ma was still concerned, but she couldn't just say no. So she opened the door a little more, letting some light from the clinic out. 'What happened?' she tried to ask, but the figure had already turned away and was gesturing urgently toward the road. 'Please, we have to hurry,' it said, and its desperation pulled at her heart. So she went and grabbed her coat and her bag, then followed out the door.
"The figure was walking quickly, and my Ma had to hurry to keep up. Ahead, the figure turned down a road that she knew led to the cemetery. Ma stopped, frowning. 'This can't be right,' she called to the figure, and held up her lantern, trying to make out its face.
"Except that as the light struck the figure, she realized she could not. Though light chased away most of the shadows, the figure's face remained shrouded in darkness, impossible to make out. As she watched, it took a step back toward her, and the hand it raised was not a hand at all, but a skeleton with ancient flesh falling from its bones. 'Please,' it said, and now its voice was raspy like wind through dead trees, 'Please come... please...'
"But Ma did not. Lantern still raised, she backed away, until the figure was out of sight.
"Ma didn't sleep at all that night. When the sun rose again she left the infirmary, retracing her steps from the night before. There was no sign of the figure on the road... not until she reached the cemetery, that is. There, she was met with a frightening sight: two skeletons, one holding the other, an empty bundle of rags held in its hands."
Thus Amalia's story ends, in a low and sonorous note. Her deep voice lends itself well to storytelling, and she looses herself in the imagery as she speaks. Like one coming out of a trance Amalia blinks, glancing around at her audience as color returns to her cheeks.
Story adapted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comment..._in_india/
"Okay- this is a story my mother told me, when I was very young." Leaning forward, the Archangel attempts to capture a little bit of the magic that always seemed to accompany her mother's tales. "My Ma was a healer back in the Hollowed Grounds. One night she'd been working until long after the sun went down and had nearly risen again, when she heard a knock at the infirmary door. It was close to LongNight, and she was wary, but she would never turn a patient away. So she went and opened the door up, just a crack, and peered into the night.
"Outside, Ma could make out a dark silhouette but couldn't see their face. 'Please, Doctor Chandrakant,' the figure said, 'My wife is pregnant and she's very ill.' Now, Ma was still concerned, but she couldn't just say no. So she opened the door a little more, letting some light from the clinic out. 'What happened?' she tried to ask, but the figure had already turned away and was gesturing urgently toward the road. 'Please, we have to hurry,' it said, and its desperation pulled at her heart. So she went and grabbed her coat and her bag, then followed out the door.
"The figure was walking quickly, and my Ma had to hurry to keep up. Ahead, the figure turned down a road that she knew led to the cemetery. Ma stopped, frowning. 'This can't be right,' she called to the figure, and held up her lantern, trying to make out its face.
"Except that as the light struck the figure, she realized she could not. Though light chased away most of the shadows, the figure's face remained shrouded in darkness, impossible to make out. As she watched, it took a step back toward her, and the hand it raised was not a hand at all, but a skeleton with ancient flesh falling from its bones. 'Please,' it said, and now its voice was raspy like wind through dead trees, 'Please come... please...'
"But Ma did not. Lantern still raised, she backed away, until the figure was out of sight.
"Ma didn't sleep at all that night. When the sun rose again she left the infirmary, retracing her steps from the night before. There was no sign of the figure on the road... not until she reached the cemetery, that is. There, she was met with a frightening sight: two skeletons, one holding the other, an empty bundle of rags held in its hands."
Thus Amalia's story ends, in a low and sonorous note. Her deep voice lends itself well to storytelling, and she looses herself in the imagery as she speaks. Like one coming out of a trance Amalia blinks, glancing around at her audience as color returns to her cheeks.
Story adapted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comment..._in_india/
even when she feels nothing
she feels it completely
she feels it completely
