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The villagers of a small village fall victim to the legends of their past. Legends who refuse to stay forgotten. This is one night that the people that belong to the land of magic myths will never forget. Cover photography by the author
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
The moon rose, its silver rays sliding over the ancient castle, still presiding on the mountain peak. The castle looks over the small medieval village below. Outside the village lay the timeless pines, shielding myths and legends from the lure of the full moon. However, at the equinox, even those sturdy boughs will fail to protect the villagers. Soon the moon will draw their ancestral nightmare from the depths. Tiny diamonds pepper the sky as the stars catch their stolen light. The gilded village stones lie in silent anticipation as the frosty air hardened on the ground. Honey coloured walls rise around shaded cobbled streets, darkened with history.The watchful castle is still, as are the streets.
The equinox was a time for family, during an age where nature was sacred and religion did not exist. However, myths, whilst mostly forgotten, still roamed freely amongst the travellers and inns, warming the firesides with far-off lands and fantastical beasts. Legends are still in the making and the magic has not yet faded from the earth. The people are twinned with the land and there was a mutual respect. Tonight, the legends that are whispered about by the hearths are stirring. The forgotten myths which even now stalk out of the night stir, drawn by the scent of vitality which pours from them, headier than the most intoxicating liquor.
