Chatterbox: Inkwell

I am cold.

The wind swirls through me, full of ice. It is many years since a bear has curled up in my corners, waiting for spring. It is even longer since there was a human to keep me company, trapped by iron bars. But I remember the bear, her warm bulk spreading heat through my cold, stone heart. And I remember the people, drifting in and out of my consiousness, driven mad by cold and guilt. I remember the castle built above me, full of laughter and tears, sorrow and joy. I remember how they all had a purpose, from the floating, lonely ghosts to pretty, giggling scullery maids.

But that is all in the past. Once, I was part of a castle. Once, I was a dungeon.

And now?

Now, I am a cave, a cavern full of cold air and the memories of a distant past. The whispers of a world that I was once a part of.

If there was a story here to tell you, I would tell it. Perhaps you would come and join me, sitting crosslegged in the same corners as the bear, bringing light and warmth back to me. Perhaps, together, we could make a new world.

But this is not a story.

This is a castle.