The White Castle: A Surreal Dark Fantasy Romance 💀 scary.co

A curious structure stood amidst the expanse of marshes, built upon a great mound of granite and earth to keep it from the rising swamp water. Its walls had been made of carved logs, far advanced in the process of decay. Its interior was painted white and sparsely furnished, most rooms laying empty, with splotches of continents made of condensation and mold working their way into the plaster. The scent of wet leaves permeated the halls and winding staircases, occasionally a fire was lit within to ward off the darkness. There was no one to wonder at how this castaway home came to be, such was its obscurity, for no other sentient eyes were laid upon it than those of its inhabitants. There was but one figure that occupied it permanently, an emaciated woman with skin that no longer remembered the sun’s caresses, though her eyes and her heart had known them too well. She would spend long hours gazing up at the menacing disk, and then down at the reeds and the bog – she grew to find them beautiful, although at first they did not welcome her. Wild fancies often took hold of her as a means of passing the hours. At times she would behold the marshland with the amplified wretchedness of decay, seeing the dutiful ferryman row his vessel through the heavy mists of dawn, lowering unhappy hosts through the dark mirror of still waters. No mortal eye could see through its grim surface, so she believed, yet the sallow figure perched at the windowsill was certain that the life of these half-glimpsed ghostly forms would one day begin anew with the help of the serpents and the maggots which writhed at the bottom, welcoming each guests in the manner they were accustomed to. They were those who had left their posts before their time, she was told, and no other visitors were ever to be expected. Even so, when the ferryman would wave at her, she would not dare to look into his eyes for too long, dreading to discern in them the disappearing land from whence he came. Other clockwork days were spent in drawing fragments of what she remembered, or thought she remembered – a life which seemed to her evermore otherworldly than that of the morning mist. And as for the remainder of her imaginings, these were crafted from the stories her Keeper’s had told her.

Release Date TBD
Author Louisa Alcroft
Language English

Gothic Fiction , Dark Fantasy Horror

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