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  • Untitled - Rebecca Bailey Y12

Untitled - Rebecca Bailey Y12

The room was silent. Nothingness rested in the corners like creatures made of red nightmares, their claws blood-drenched and dripping with a crimson emptiness.

Moonlight pooled into the centre and congealed against the cold marble floor, tendrils of it breaking through the aged curtains to spread like a maze of pearlescent capillaries. Fragile veins of silver fled up the black walls like desperate rivers running through a mountain range, running through the rich, silken nothingness.

Eventually, dawn would bloom and the blazing arrows of the sun’s light would boldly chase away the lack of life and feeling. Early-waking birds would free the room from its silence and the grand piano hidden against the back wall would be played - as it was every morning - to gratefully welcome the day.

But, until then, the large, unoccupied space hung in an uncertain state like a soul that had yet to fully pass over. Lingering between being and not being, tangible and ethereal. Nightmares nestled in its recesses whilst the moon blended and merged with its core.

The room was silent. And though it did carry a sense of muted lethality - of ‘almost the end but not quite’ - it was inexplicably, incontestably, beautiful.

Perhaps that was why the blood-soaked creatures nestled in the corners had chosen it for their home.