Why, hi there!

This is a test story (to see if I can actually get my computer to work), but I felt obliged to write something. So, I jotted down this... whatever the heck this may be. The first paragraph is DISCLAIMER; I don't own Nevermore*cough*obviously*cough*.

Enjoy!

The destruction burned slightly, Nocs swarming the fire to watch such destruction. Yet there was no absence of that dreaded thing that those flames left behind, that those embers fed off of. Ash. It was everywhere. It rained from the purple sky, the color so different from the sky of the world he once knew. It traveled in the wind, forming things of his nightmares, of his sweetest dreams, whispering the things he most desired before billowing away again in ribbons.

He looked about him, behind him, something he told himself he'd never do. He looked away, towards the foaming sea of green and blue, spitting up both horrific and beautiful things onto the rocks before dragging them away again, leaving naught but impressions into the sand before those too were dragged away. Even the simplest of rebellions were stopped, that's what he most noticed about the sea. It conquered all that stood in its way, and it was foolish to try. But try these forbidden things did, these things belonging to different worlds.

The dark haired man looked down at the pink ribbon gripped in his hand, entwined in his fingers before looking at the destruction. The slight, unseasonably warm breeze tugged at it, and he clutched it tighter in his hand as he glanced up, looking at all of the rubble, at all of the pure chaos that reigned, its beauty something he could not ignore. He had always found beauty and sanction in all the things of this nature, in chaos, in all the the pure unbridled fear some would find in such things, he found release. He found love.

But not of late. Not since she came into his life. Isobel. Her name he often whispered her name at the witching hour, thinking of her. She wouldn't come back. That is the thought that kept penetrating his mind, and his heart.

And then a macabre figure was before him, in front of him as if a mirror. In the background was the gilded castle's rubble, but he didn't pay attention to it, for the more important of the two was before him. The ruler. After he stopped believing Ligea's lies, she was soon after gone. And then, he had thought, another had gained control. Pinfeathers or Scrimshaw, he didn't care. But as the former of the two stood before him, he explained how he could rule over this world, or at least this realm. From the dark tarn of Auber, to the ghost-haunted woodland of Weir.

And even though at first he did not listen to his carefully-spun words coming out of the creature in front of him, they slowly got under his skin. He could rebuild, wait until he died, but do something with the rest of his life. He may do something, build something worth creating. He could build something for Isobel, he'd said. He could write again. Isobel. That's what got to him. If this monster, albeit a monster he created, could say her name so casually in a conversation, then he could say it aloud. Isobel. 'She's not coming back'. Something cruel hissed inside him. He took the smooth porcelain hand in front of him, somehow knowing this to be his downfall.

Feel free to critique, but please be nice. I am an emotional being XD. And if anyone were to want to be my beta… .