Creative Writing: The Haunted House

The forests were on fire.

Ablaze, kin with the flickering, smouldering flames, the leaves burned and the wood became black. The grass beneath all the canopies and stretching branches grew a shade of intense yellow and orange when the crackling destruction reached with long tendrils, the inexistent hands waving their fingers and setting it all aflame.

And awakening Rohan from a sleep so magnificent it did.

He arose from the trunk of the largest tree in the east. His eyes searched the woods that abounded his visage, and it surprised him that a orange hue covered his view. Recognizing the crackling of the substance and heat which was provided by its destructive nature, he hopped to his feet, his leaf-bound robe swaying at his feet, delicately kissing his ankles.

"Embris," he whispered.

The goddess of the hearth was also of the flames. Although he got along

It smacked against the ground and gathered upon the dry grass beside his barren feet. The flames did a dance and moved gracefully across the wisps of verdant blades, swaying this way and that as it encapsulated the enormity of the ground in brightness anew.

Was she the one who did this? he thought.

Then he shook his head. She couldn't be. She was in her place of rule with all her companions, and rarely frequented the east to engender this ruin.

It must have been one of his subjects, or someone who thought nothing of the nature that surrounded them. Always, there were those who never wanted the earth to be left alone, and the plants and animals of the world unaffected, like who had industrialized up in the north. He supported his fellow gods and goddesses who loved their domains and their work, and always felt a swell of pride when they spoke of their positions in passionate certainty. Even Holous, who was attempting all sorts of mischief and foolishness wherever he went, his shiny, winged mask covering the intense glee the schemes brought to