ίππος λευκός

I was lying on a cushion reading, the fire warm at my back, and drowsing a little when the temperature in the library dropped noticeably and Legion stepped to lean against the pillar supporting the stairs to the attic. I gazed at her impossibly smooth pale skin, drawn to the darkness of Her eyevoids. As I looked, the central pillar of the Library began to twist and spread, leafless branches shooting upward from a gnarled trunk. “Legion?” I whispered, but She said nothing, her head nodding to on side, motioning. I followed the tilt of her head and saw a suit of gleaming armor. It was almost white, the light glinted from it so fiercely. A white horse stood next to it, its eyes red and staring. His head was held up, his mouth closed, and a snorting sound came from his flared nostrils as if checking for danger. As I focused on the armor, the sights in the visor opened, revealing nothing within. A stream of beetles poured out. They swirled, moved by an unseen whirlwind, slowly forming into the shape of a man in white clothing. He wore a bow but carried no arrows. He looked at me, his face impassive, and turned to mount the steed beside him, a pale rider on a pale horse. I heard the words, “ίππος λευκός” uttered in many whispering voices. The wind whipped the rider’s robes and then he was no more, man and horse dissolving in a mist.

Read Blue's Dream.