What Dreams are Made Of_Part Thirteen: The Separation.

The forest walls grew denser the further they stepped. There were no stars visible at the thicket’s outer rim. The trees loomed like giants whose towering arms and wooden fingers were knitted in opaque patterns that blotted out the sky. Crow calls echoed overhead. Something vile was entombed in the bone black umbra.

He paused against a soaring tree incised in sepia and hardened layers of linseed. Small twigs and debris showered down from the bough above and startled him. A gentle touch brought back his courage. Once their eyes adjusted to the gloom, the grove before them appeared to form a narrow hallway in the gnarled tree trunks.

He heard muttering and muffled shouting. A chill crept along his spine and tunneled through his mind. Broken glass chimed an atonal melody abruptly cut short by a door sharply shut. Behind a shield of white noise and distortion, appalling promises were implored and lies lay in ambush to unravel his mind.

What waited there was uncertain and he was not ready. Though she had led him here, and her comfort was a cure that could not be measured, it was his decision. He held her hand tightly once more and tenderly tilted her head to memorize the lines that drew them together. Looking back only once, long enough to see her elusive smile fade into the forest, he set out to face his fear alone.  

To be continued.