The Prophecy

The ancient oracle, her white hair like cobwebs in the twilight air, looked up from her parchment to gaze into the depths of a tapestry depicting the course of time. Her fingers moved deftly over the swath of threads, searching for signs that heralded an ominous portent from beyond the western horizon. A chill lingered on her breath as she spoke of a cosmic event, her prophecy whispering through the chambers and out onto the night air.

'A traveler in the sky, from realms unseen,

When the night sky weeps in hues of red,

As the moon shrouds itself in the cloak of night,

evil in the west shall rise again.'

The oracle's voice fell away with her final utterance, growing increasingly faint until it was lost in the ethereal breeze. Her prophecy, written onto ancient parchment and sealed shut with wax from the sacred flame.