I've been attempting to write a VisDare for near about a month now. Let's hope I can get back in the groove.
Listen. The intimidating figure had whispered in his ear. His tattered black cloak flapped – no, glided – in the wind. Mithrin had never imagined that a piece of cloth could be so graceful, but this cloak was. The figure placed a bony finger under Mithrin’s chin and tilted his face, so their eyes met. Listen. He whispered again. There was a crack in his voice. The kind you hear when you step on yellowed leaves during fall. A weariness that seeped through. Behind the strange contraption was an old face. Mithrin decided. But was it a wise one?
Lost in his own thoughts and the void that were the figure’s eyes, Mithrin didn’t notice when reality began to fade and when that raspy voice trickled through his subconscious.
…the signs are everywhere. In the chipper of a bird that comes a second too late. In the nervous croaking of frogs. The pauses in conversations in hallways and bars and alleys. Listen. You will know when you hear it. A giggle, that is not. The cackle of darkness. Listen and run.