Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Dark Fantasy

  • The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers appeared in all its majesty and magnificence, hiding arcane secrets and alluring spells of lost loves that were now just a scatter of dust and decay. My wild heart had dragged me into the abyss of dismay where I had been allured magically by wicked ghouls.

    I had certitude that no creature loved me. Still, all that I could cherish was the damaged portrait of my dreams, which had been buried in the graveyard of my luscious flowers. Sweet funeral melodies floated like a gentle winter breeze, making me melt like a snowflake under the sun.

    I huddled among the gravestones looking, for a trace of one of my flowers but I searched in vain because I found only muddy earth and ice. I could see shadows peeking out from the dry branches of dead trees, whose roots were soaked in despair and bones.

    An exquisite storm overwhelmed me and agitated my shattered heart, along with all my desires and dreams. I dared to chase all the stars of the night sky; nevertheless, I couldn’t find them because they were not there for me. I had altered into an ethereal entity. I wasn’t real. I wasn’t mortal.

    I fantasised about glistening starlight and crimson incense, whenever a nightmare would find me, carrying me to the realm of darkness. I was no longer material. I was a metaphysical creature made of turmoil and frenzy. Instead of a heart, I had an iron-made treasure chest.

    I embraced the realm of darkness and eternal night, and like a fierce ghost, I chased elusive dreams and chimaeras. Because, I yearned for love and passion, like a flower in the desert craved water. I was an everlasting flame, and I was a frosty blizzard.

    I enjoyed being a magic sorceress, ready to cast spells, and finding delight in my withered garden, confiding in my ravens, ghosts, and crimson roses. I amused myself by tasting bittersweet venoms and the frozen flowers, which were blossoming in my garden. I swallowed nonsense and I sensed fire beneath the deep garnet moonlight.

    I was hate and love. I was demise and power. I was darkness and light. I was fervour and purity. I was madness and wisdom. I was sin and virtue. I was blight and beauty. I was nasty and righteous. Everything lingered within me, and nothingness swirled like a tempest inside me as well.

    I burned like an inextinguishable flame because of my foolish and greedy desires. Having no longer a body, I was made only of fire and ice. Instead of a heart, I had an abyss of frenzy. My fondness for nightmares and dizziness was infinite, like the oblivion of the universe.

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers was my agony and my bliss. All my spirit had been brought away by the stormy wind and all my hooes had been reduced to ashes. My soul belonged entirely to the magical realm of ghouls and witches. I embraced the doom, becoming my only dream.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Garden Of Oblivion

    The Garden Of Oblivion

    The garden of oblivion became my secret hideaway, where I could fall into total despair, crying out all my disillusionments. A garden of frozen flowers and broken mirrors unfolded before me. Fragments of shattered mirrors sundered my heart into crystal shards, which the moonlight illuminated with all its splendour.

    I was a forsaken creature lost in my trail of lost passions and abandoned to my loneliness. I wandered like a dead soul without any aim to survive since I had lost all my treasures and nothing more was important to cherish. So, cast away from the other worlds, I sought haven in this surreal realm of my own invention.

    Love was a perfect stranger to me since my past existences, when utopian trees and flowers surrounded me all the time with their intoxicating scents and bright colours, leaving sweet caresses in my heart. In this period of shadows, I have become just a relic of myself.

    I wandered astray through labyrinths inhabited by ghosts and wraiths, whose claws, merciless as daggers, clasped my dreams. My turmoil rose each night quickly, as soon as I stared into the gloomy emptiness of the ocean and screamed at it with all my untamed acrimony.

    Wandering infinitely among shards of capricious desires and withered flowers, in the realm of shadows and dismay, was all that remained to me. I was a part of that world of doom and oblivion, although all that I desired was to be in an idyllic kingdom of delights and sparkling luminaries.

    The garden of oblivion claimed me like one of its creatures, having lost my heart, which had disappeared into the abyss of oblivion, while I cried tears made of grief and sorrow. My tragic fate had deprived me of everything, and no longing was evermore granted to me.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Vault Of Forsaken Keys

    The Vault Of Forsaken Keys

    The vault of forsaken keys was the place of shadows and mysteries, of wisdom and madness, and where the keys of all the world, beyond the earthly and the earthly, were kept. It is not known to what or to whom they belonged, yet they seemed to guard secrets that no one could know.

    As dark and gloomy as this cavern of fantasy and greed might seem, of recession and generosity, it had a particular charm, a sobriety so composed that it impressed me for the order and at the same time the madness that hovered in those ancient and decrepit halls.

    The scent of incense and ancient metal impregnated the air, which was coloured by semi-shadows, by metallic reflections that the shadows cast upon the walls.

    The endless and long corridors spread out into an infinite labyrinth impossible to decipher. Without being able to find an exact direction. But one constant thing was the vision of a light like a perpetual faint glow at the end of these corridors. And the more I proceeded, the more I found no end. It was as if I had remained trapped in that underground and undefined place from which I was certain I could no longer escape. Because in fact there was no way out. And I was destined to become one of the countless and anonymous metal keys arranged on the walls.

    My freedom had been devoured by that unnamed and unfindable place. My troubles and cries were worth nothing, I only lost my breath. It was as if gradually I was losing the faculty to perceive my breath. And it was as if I was transforming into something else.

    I never knew if I was dreaming. I never knew if I was a common mortal, a being born on a planet. Or, instead, I was the fruit of my own imagination and I do not know what I was, what I had originated from. I too felt like one of those countless keys, in that vault of forsaken keys.
    Elisabetta

  • Beneath The Ocean Vault

    Beneath The Ocean Vault

    Beneath the ocean vault, there was a secret place
    where the hidden truths and the most recondite secrets had been buried.
    Among ruins covered by coral and algae
    and a rather unsettling expanse of swirling water.
    It was there that the crypt under the ocean lay,
    as if the sea had been its roof and also its home.
    Mine was a simple vision,
    it may be that I was dreaming,
    it may be that I was having these hallucinations.
    I only know that it was not the fruit of a conscious and calculated imagination.
    It seemed that I had abandoned myself
    to the sound of the stormy waves on an autumn evening.
    When the faint light of the sky merged with the water of the ocean
    until merged as one unity.

    I closed my eyes and I abandoned myself to my imaginative madness,
    And I saw with even more clarity that marvellous and fantastical landscape
    which did not belong to me,
    But which in some way symbolised something of my past or of my future,
    because I, in the end, lived in the past and the future.
    My present was in oblivion.

    Beneath the ocean vault, my dreams had ceased to whisper visions and desires. In their place remained nightmares that drew their fantasies from bitter disappointments and atrocious memories. And it was in this labyrinth of water and darkness that I found myself entwined, clutched as if unbound by invisible chains.

    I found myself in an oceanic crypt where the sea creatures had turned into ghosts, hunting me like prey and a victim of their tortures and torments. My invocation to the cruel fate of a possible change, where I might have grasped a flower of hope, was to no avail. In the endless and vast infinite.
    Elisabetta

  • The Doomed Spell

    The Doomed Spell

    The doomed spell of the underworld was cast on me
    While I was wandering in my silent ways on a summer night
    Resentment and fear were far from me but the danger of death was following me
    Like an ominous shadow behind me
    Ready to decide when my end was going to happen

    And suddenly, like a storm in a clear sky, horror manifested itself before me.
    And, to all my fears, a bewitched and gigantic carriage, guided by a demon who struck blows upon his demonic horse with sharp teeth and a spectral gaze,
    a carriage populated by spectres, spirits and skeletons, all assembled as in a gathering.

    My long dress became soaked with mud and earth as I crossed this road of disgrace and death.
    And behold, the spectral coachman with his evil gaze headed directly towards my person to put an end to my existence, unleashing all his strength and aggressiveness and violence against me, and I almost perished — death brushed me, if it hadn’t been for a miraculous touch that diverted my figure from such horror.

    Shaken and bewildered, I relived the miracle of life, of rebirth, and it was there, in that fleeting and transient instant, that I was born again, assuming a new identity, even if my appearance had not quite changed — but my heart had become of bronze, copper and silver.

    The moon shone high in the night of storm and serenity, and the echo of my horror and of my spasms of fear and distress spread through all the firmament, making the stars hear my tale of misery and miracle.

    The doomed spell ruled over my mad destiny and had crumbled like a kind of majestic castle.
    It is splendid, but within it, my gloomy, shadowy soul was falling to pieces.
    And, filled with sorrows more than joys, it was crumbling apart under the weight of life — and of that night of nightmares and atrocities.
    Elisabetta

  • The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The cemetery of fairies
    lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Star dust was falling over me
    like a midnight rain
    In a winter storm,
    cold and glimmering,
    silent as a magic spell,
    settling upon my hair
    like an ethereal veil
    woven from arcane secrets.

    A shroud of solitude wrapped around me
    like a protective barrier,
    rendering me invisible to others—
    And yet, at the same time,
    It made me a prisoner
    of a realm I could no longer resist belonging to.

    The pain I had always felt—
    It was like a kind of splinter
    pierced into my heart,
    one to which I had grown numb and accustomed.
    So many sorrows had scattered
    across my brief existence,
    leaving no trace among mortals,
    like a tiny, insignificant creature
    adrift in an immense ocean
    of infinite, scattered universes—
    unconnected, and forgotten.

    My silence was heavy with resentment,
    disillusionment, despair, and utter isolation.
    I stood within the cemetery of fairies—
    not the fairies of storybooks,
    But the ones who embodied my abandoned dreams,
    shattered and buried
    In a vast expanse I called a graveyard,
    Though in truth it existed only within my imagination.
    The scene before me was grim and mournful,
    for it mirrored my shadowed soul—
    a soul steeped in torment
    and numbed by the weight of impossibility,
    numbed by the stark realisation
    that I would never reach
    those long-yearned-for desires
    that had once set my heart alight.

    Sweet should have been the tender memories of my life—
    Yet I called them the ghosts of the past,
    for they haunted and tormented my sleep,
    filling my nights with unrest.
    In those troubled hours,
    My heart was relentlessly torn apart
    by the spears of demons
    Who, with dreadful solemnity,
    invaded my chamber unbidden.
    Elisabetta

  • On The Verge Of The Abyss

    On The Verge Of The Abyss

    On the verge of the abyss
    Having waited for the night to come and take me
    My heart had beat for the last time
    In vain I tried to exhume my dead memories
    Nothing could have been done to save them
    I was destined to doom and decay
    Despair tore my clothes and left my body covered in bruises

    On the verge of my death
    I was not capable of changing my fate
    Everything had been planned by a mischievous fate
    My heart collapsed under the spell of wicked deceptions
    I had fallen captive to the dungeon of my desires
    I was at the mercy of my instincts, and I surrendered to them

    Summoned by the silent force of the wind
    I followed the call without hesitation or fear
    My steps left no imprint on the ground
    After the night had erased them completely
    Shadows guided me on my path to darkness and defeat
    So slow was my journey that I had no remembrances anymore

    I was no longer a slave of others’ deception
    I wasn’t available any longer to lend my heart to mortals
    I became the wind and the night
    I was transformed into darkness and solitude
    An invisible creature of the twilight

    And there, on the edge of the forsaken realm of the void
    I dissolved like morning haze into the eternity of forbidden dreams
    I had no shape, no name and no sorrow to bear in my heart
    There was only absolute silence bearing my crown of shadows
    I was no longer a perishable mortal
    I had become the abyss itself.
    Elisabetta

  • Waiting For An Omen

    Waiting For An Omen

    Waiting for an omen
    Disillusioned by my fate
    Seeking magic numbers
    With no outcome
    Forgetting to have faith in mortals
    I was resolute in carving my book of ignominious names

    Not forgetting luck
    Not forgiving
    I remembered one by one their shameful name
    The puppet theatre had ended
    Without drapes
    Without pretense
    Their game was over

    Surrounded by a deserted and sombre landscape
    I contemplated the sense of life and death
    In the attendance of shadows and memories
    Silver and dark clouds arrived suddenly
    As unexpected guests

    Having forgotten me
    The stars hovered over the darkness of the night
    I cried in desolation and meditated on my own misery
    At that very particular moment, I knew I was born to perish

    I was just an ephemeral creature deprived of those fate gifts granted to everyone but me
    Softly, the enchanting spell of a midnight hymn hypnotised me
    Falling into a deep slumber from which I never again awoke

    Indeed, I became the property of the Hades
    The realm of eternal torment
    And there, I didn’t need any waiting
    I didn’t wait for anything

    Waiting for an omen was just a faded memory
    In a kingdom where no expectation was allowed to exist.
    Elisabetta

  • Devoured By My Own Dismay

    Devoured By My Own Dismay

    Devoured by my own dismay
    Crying in the middle of the night
    Feeling the sharp points of the daggers impaling my heart
    Fainted behind my shadow
    Forced to live
    Devoted to death
    Striving for darkness and the underworld

    Devoured by my own regrets
    Chains of anguish that bond me to my death chamber
    Where I hid behind the veil of sorrow and blood
    Like a magnificent statue of sorrow veiling her countenance

    I melt in the haze of the night to become invisible
    I become the night and the solitude
    Just a creature of the underworld
    The realm of destruction and death
    Transformation mutes me in infinite shapes and entities

    Devoured by my own dismay
    I linger in my own fantasies
    Sometimes they are my nightmares and they want to obliterate me
    Sometimes they are my fears and anxieties
    Chaining me to my dungeon of anguish

    Slowly the rain falls over me
    Stroking my face as to accompany me in my garden of loneness
    I surrender to my madness and turmoil
    I have no power anymore
    I lost everything to be left with dust and decay

    My heart is stitched and bleeding
    Buried inside a coffin in the graveyard of memories
    In the cemetery of those I lost permanently

    And time seemed to stop at the very moment my grief began to be alive
    Interrupting my life and slicing me into fragments and pieces of flesh and blood
    To be relegated to a poky fate
    Tucked behind time’s dusty drapes.
    Elisabetta

  • Mirrors And Dreams

    Mirrors And Dreams

    Mirrors and dreams appeared to me as I drank from the inception of the stormy night, where silence curdled into ink, and every word I swallowed appeared as a curse in my blood.

    The moon kissed my shadow, not with clemency but with remembrance. What I lost I buried in decay. What I loved I burned in darkness. Mirrors and dreams were just mere illusions.

    Silent visions visited me in my eternal nightmares as I never awakened from that realm of madness and phantasmagoria. In loneliness and unconsciousness, I wandered into the garden of desires.

    Untruthful chimaeras were my chaperones as I delighted myself in ethereal merriments and beauty. I lived in delusional fantasies as I forgot the feeling of fear.

    I only existed in poems and hymns to share my love and obsessions. Softly, the nocturnal breeze stroked my face, and I could hear a solemn and funereal melody.

    I felt invisible and ethereal, as if no mortal could have been able to perceive my presence. Indeed, I had become a spirit of the darkness; I was the shadow of my soul.

    Although my everlasting passion for the sublime and beauty never left my heart, I felt the aches and pangs of a withered flowered. Seeking stability in my rooted insanity, I had renounced the world of reality forever.

    The heartless fate had decided its decree to condemn me to the underworld and abandon every vestige of my past existence. Surrounded by mirrors and dreams, I surrendered to my hallucinations.

    The wraiths that chased me were the evocations of my terrible memories. They strived to cast a spell on me to constrain me in the dungeon of death and blood. Where no tree and no flower ever saw life.

    No mirror could recall me, no dream dared claim me.
    Elisabetta

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