NdA #1: Voici une histoire gothique que créée pour un travail d'anglais. Il se peut que je la traduise en français dans mon temps libre. Voici sans plus attendre la V.2.5 de l'histoire, à la suite de feedback de mon grand frère.

 

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Dread and panic roam on the streets of our home town. Many are desperate and upset at the Council's inability to save its people. 

See, an illness as terrible as the plague, called the Nyx, has been taking the life away from the townsfolk in horrifying ways. But no matter what measures the Privy Council's takes, it seems that the disease- whose causes are still unkown- simply won't go away.

 

Is this God's retribution?

 

No one dares to speak about it, and the Queen of our modest and secluded country has decided to shut herself within the walls of Her castle- along with Her entourage and few selected individuals... My sister and I were two of the lucky ones to be in good terms with an upper-class man and good friend of our late parents. Ah, such kind fellow he was!

 

But these days, only a bleak mindset taints his once beaming personality.

With such a disaster at hand, I can only sympathize with his despair.

It has now been three months since Elise and I have been living in the castle.

 

* * *

To divert Herself from the chaos and suffering outside of her domain, the Queen decided to organize an grand party.

A masquerade, to be precise. And it was going to take place tonight, after twilight. 

I think too I truly needed to distract myself from all the misery and death, for I feared it would drive me insane. I wish I could have done something, anything, but no one else around us seemed to care about the well-being of the citizens.

I was terrified.

Even more than skin turning cold and pitch black, bones snapping from inside and ebony needles piercing me from my very core- yes, such were the sudden and fatal symptoms of the Nyx- what afraid me most now was to be living such a display of cruelty and inhumanity.

 

* * *

I remember, the moon showed herself early this cold winter evening, seemingly tainted in hues of green.

As I headed toward the ballroom, I remember seeing a rather large gathering of guards. How odd. I soon encountered Elise, wearing a lovely white dress. We had a good chat for awhile, but soon a rather stunning gent invited her to dance. I knew it was going to happen.

Happy to oblige, she nonetheless looked back at me with worry in her eyes. To ease her concern, I simply nodded back with a hint of a smile.

Smiling like that, she looked like a beautiful but fragile lily dancing in the hall. I could forget the guilt, even if for just a moment. People were merry, waltzing, eating, chatting and laughing. Trust me, it was as giddy as it sounds. It went on for a while, as I serenely watched the lighthearted scene before me.

The screams and the wails of the dying outside the fortress would reach no one tonight.

 

Soon, the grandfather clock towering in a corner of the room rang twelve times- each even louder than the last- as if announcing the arrival of a sinister day. And without a warning, the court folks began to shriek in horror.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw a lone figure, about my height, standing beside the very same clock. I did not have the time to take a good look; nearby me Elise fell on the harsh floor, agonized and cold as ice. That's when I slowly began to understand-  the Nyx somehow infiltrated the castle, and it was going to spread fast.

In the end, I was afraid to die. I could not even hold my dear sister in my arms during her last moments: my body could have been punctured at any moment. My knees felt weak and before I knew it, I fell to the floor at her side, watching people savagely try to escape by pushing and walking on each other. It was no use though, as someone had blocked every exit.

 

Hell is what is was. Some even jumped out of the windows in their madness. Perhaps did they simply hope for a more merciful death. Those who stayed all fell one by one in a matter of minutes. Then, the sound of bones snapping beside me. I knew who it was. I turned my head around to see my poor, poor sister.

Her pretty dress was stained with red. 

How am I not dead? 

Her bones were crooked and broken.

Why wasn't it me instead!

 

The smell of blood was nauseating. I looked back at the window, feeling sick, numb. The gray sky shed pure, crystallized tears, as if mourning. The scene was meters away, but it seemed so secluded from this sullied place...

And I wondered, 'Is this... reality?'

There was, excluding me, one person who still stood in the ball room. It was of the same lone man, covered in the same crimson as his mask. While he was slowly walking toward me, I could sense, almost see, the nonchalant look on his face. Seeing that I was still eyeing him, he sighed and took off his mask.

How in the world he looked just like me, I do not know.

 

He, no, it- turned his back on me and then spoke, "Though tonight you will live to tell the tale, remember: no one escapes me."

Only then did it start to walk away, the sound of footsteps gently resonating and fading away with my consciousness. 

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NdA #2: Vous l'aurez peut-être remarqué, mais ce conte est grandement inspirée d'une oeuvre de Poe, appelée Le Masque de la Mort Rouge. J'apprécierai grandement vos critiques, car c'est mon premier récit sérieusement rédigé. 

Que pensez-vous de la fin? 

Le setting de l'histoire est-il trop vague?

Le déroulement de l'action est-elle fluide ou au contraire, déroutante?

Malgré la brièveté du récit, a-t-il eu sur vous un impact émotionnel quelconque?  

Devrais-je élaborer cette nouvelle, ou devrais-je la laisser ainsi?

Sur un total de 10, combien évaluez-vous la qualité de cette histoire?