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Here’s a spooky little fairytale for one of my favorite days of the year >:^)

He shuddered; the breath that fell from the grates of his helm mingled with the fog, therein he fancied he saw the black forms of fairies droning to and fro, or perhaps he was finally coming tangled in the madness of that strange island. The air was thick. The earth was soft and putrid. Neither the trees nor boulders nor creeks nor even footsteps seemed to stay where he left them. His arms sagged, and only when the weight- the sword- rolled from his fingers did he remember he had been holding it at all.
"’Tis like a dream..." he mused, and knelt to pick up the rusted thing. But it had not been rusted when he left the boat, nor was his armor that creaked and flaked away as he stood.

"How odd,"

And then he saw it. Delirium fled him and horror rung violently from the base of his spine to his eyelashes that trembled, but did not blink. He dare not blink. He dare not move. All was silent but for the damp pat of bare hands on soft earth, many hands all moving with no regard for one another like some abominable centipede, searching fingers, swaying neck, the very reeds shrunk from it, but still the knight did not move. It was blind- from a crown hung a veil of swampsoiled tweed where it’s eyes might have been, but the fairies whispered in its ears, and pointed at the knight.

Description

Here’s a spooky little fairytale for one of my favorite days of the year >:^)

He shuddered; the breath that fell from the grates of his helm mingled with the fog, therein he fancied he saw the black forms of fairies droning to and fro, or perhaps he was finally coming tangled in the madness of that strange island. The air was thick. The earth was soft and putrid. Neither the trees nor boulders nor creeks nor even footsteps seemed to stay where he left them. His arms sagged, and only when the weight- the sword- rolled from his fingers did he remember he had been holding it at all.
"’Tis like a dream..." he mused, and knelt to pick up the rusted thing. But it had not been rusted when he left the boat, nor was his armor that creaked and flaked away as he stood.

"How odd,"

And then he saw it. Delirium fled him and horror rung violently from the base of his spine to his eyelashes that trembled, but did not blink. He dare not blink. He dare not move. All was silent but for the damp pat of bare hands on soft earth, many hands all moving with no regard for one another like some abominable centipede, searching fingers, swaying neck, the very reeds shrunk from it, but still the knight did not move. It was blind- from a crown hung a veil of swampsoiled tweed where it’s eyes might have been, but the fairies whispered in its ears, and pointed at the knight.