(picture credit: Wikipedia)
I close my eyes and I can see them as clear as day before me. Whitewashed walls, glowing in the light of a torch, stretched around the room. Neatly chiselled into the plaster and then painted with a steady hand are shapes and symbols…
I could read them all, once, millennia ago. These strange drawings were words, and these words formed the spells to keep us safe, in this life and the next…
In my mind’s eye, I trace them with my finger, longing for the knowledge I once possessed before time eroded it away, just like the words themselves, which have long since turned to dust.
Having spells to keep us safe sounds a lot better than spells to curse us.
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Oh, the stories these few words fo conjure. My mind is alive with potential scenarios. To say I ‘like’ seems lame
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I always like new takes on the problems of long life/ immortality — what you lose over all that time, what you forget.
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