A veil of acidic smoke seeped across the obsidian cobblestones beneath the blood-red sky. Ash rained like snow, painting the air in a suffocating pall. In the distance, the silhouette of a broken citadel loomed above the wasteland, its spire pointing accusingly at a bloated, dying moon. Beneath its shadow, the wind howled, carrying whispers not meant for mortal ears.
In this desolate twilight, a figure walked alone. She wore a sweeping gown of jet-black velvet, its hem tattered from countless miles trekked through the shattered world. The high, stark white collar of the dress glowed faintly in the dim light, pure as freshly fallen snow, catching the eye like a haunting memory. Her dark hair, braided into two neat plaits, framed a pale face with high cheekbones and cold, dark eyes that seemed to see far beyond the physical world. At her hip, a crow-shaped lantern swayed with each step. Its eerie blue glow illuminated the swirling ash, casting dancing shadows that writhed like living creatures.
She had no name here, in this broken realm—but in whispers passed like forbidden secrets, she was known as the Lantern-Bearer.
A ghastly screech split the silence. She halted as clawed footsteps scuttled across the broken stone ahead, heralding the arrival of some unseen predator. Her grip on the lantern tightened. Its glow burned brighter, defiantly piercing the gloom. The shape emerged—a twisted amalgamation of sinew, bone, and shadow, its long, taloned arms scraping the ground. Its eyeless face tilted toward her, sniffing the air as if it could sense her defiance.
“You are not welcome here,” she said, her voice cool and emotionless, cutting through the air like a knife.
The creature lunged with a deafening roar, but her movements were precise, supernatural. She ducked low, spinning as her dress flared like an ink stain in water. The lantern swung in her grip, blue light exploding outward in a wave. The creature shrieked as the light seared into its form, obliterating it into shadowy motes that dissipated like smoke.
She straightened, unshaken, her breath steady. The dance was over as quickly as it had begun. For her, this was routine. The shadows clawed and bit, but she always endured. There was a time when it had frightened her—when the weight of the lantern was unbearable, a burden carved from prophecy. That time had long passed.
The Unending Path
Long ago, before the world had crumbled, she had been a child in a stark Victorian setting, with claw-footed furniture, secret passageways, and candlelit rooms that always seemed too large to be real. She could still hear the echo of her family’s laughter in her mind, hollow and distant like the chime of a bell in a deep cavern.
The turning point came when their estate was attacked—pillaged not by men but by veiled apparitions. They had come seeking the Lantern of Eternal Shadows, an ancient artifact capable of banishing or summoning creatures from the Between. In the chaos, the artifact had bonded with her, choosing her as its keeper. Her family… she dared not think of what had become of them. She had awoken alone in this cursed place, the collapse of reality itself.
Her gown remained the same—untouched by time, though slightly modified by her own hand for practicality. She had sewn hidden compartments for her tools—a pearl-handled dagger, silver mirror, and compass engraved with glyphs. To some, the attire might seem impractical. To her, it was armor, a shield of memory against the encroachments of despair.
The Citadel Beckons
Now, she approached the citadel—her ultimate destination. Every fiber of the shattered world seemed to pull her toward it. The lantern pulsed wildly, its blue light dimming and brightening in unsettling rhythms, as though responding to an unheard voice. The ash thickened the closer she came to the spire, clumping in her braids, dirtying the white collar that stubbornly defied the decay clinging to the rest of her.
Two great statues stood guard at the gates, their faces obscured by erosion and time. As she raised the lantern, their hollow eyes ignited with blue fire. The massive gates groaned, the sound like the world splitting in two.
Inside, the air was heavy, oppressive, as though every particle conspired to drag her down. The walls were covered in etched runes, glowing faintly with malevolent energy. At the center of the hall sat a throne, and upon it rested a figure clad in robes of flowing shadow. Their face was obscured by a porcelain mask, cracked down the center.
“So, the keeper of the lantern comes at last,” said the figure, their voice echoing unnaturally. “You think you can cleanse what has been corrupted?”
She stepped forward, her eyes unflinching. “I do not think. I act.”
The figure laughed, though the sound lacked humor. “Then let us see if your light can outshine the eternal dark.”
The Final Dance
The throne room erupted into conflict. The figure summoned tendrils of shadow that lashed out toward her. She moved with precision, dodging and weaving, her lantern a blazing star in the sea of blackness. Each time the light struck the tendrils, they recoiled as though burned.
But the longer the battle waged, the dimmer the lantern’s glow became. Her hands trembled from the weight of it, and though her movements remained elegant, fatigue threatened to overtake her. The shadowy figure advanced, relentless, until they stood mere feet apart.
“You cannot defeat the void,” they whispered, their voice unbearably close.
She met their gaze—or what little of it could be seen behind the mask. “The void doesn’t know me.”
With that, she swung the lantern with every ounce of strength left in her body. The crow-shaped orb shattered like glass, releasing a blinding explosion of light so pure and brilliant it turned everything black—for her, and for the world.
Final Dawn
When she awoke, the sky was no longer red, but an infinite expanse of soft blue. The air smelled of earth after a fresh rain, and sunlight warmed her face. The citadel was gone, replaced by endless fields of wildflowers swaying gently in a breeze.
Her dress was still black, the collar as white as the clouds. The braids in her hair, untouched by the fight, cascaded down her shoulders like rivers of night. She looked at her empty hands. The lantern was gone, its weight finally lifted.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the whispers had stopped. The world was silent, and she smiled—a small, fleeting smile—before taking her first step into the new horizon.
Genre: Dark Fantasy
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Your Next Cosplay: Wednesday Addams in a Striking Black Dress
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