14th century England, rain pours on a beautiful evangelical Church, cascading the stained glass windows & cruel grimaces of gargoyles. Within, a modest friar writes a story upon crisp parchment underneath the candlelight which dances gracefully despite this late hour. A suit of knights armour watches from the corner, one half glowing by fire & the other lit by the face of the full moon.
The friars quill scratches at the parchment as he writes of a battle, one which the suit now emulated., a night much like this depicted in the wet ink. The figure of jesus seems to mourn for the hero of the friar’s morose tale. A tale in which a knight tries in vain to defend his porcelain wife from a dark clad baron & his sneering guard.
The friar’s quill dances more fervently, as blood rushes to his face, and his heart beats like the drums of war which echo endlessly as he reaches the climax. Finally, with an anti-climatic stroke the weary man bottles his ink, rolls the protesting parchment, and suffocates the candles, draping the cold armour in moon lit darkness.
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