The Mist
The weather was not the same. She was old. Older than everyone on that island, older maybe than time itself — she didn’t even think about it. There was no time in Avalon. There, there was only the constancy of the mist. Looking through the window that day, for a moment, she felt something. A tiny goosebump. Something different. In a place where she was used to strange things, none of them had ever given the lady a goosebump before.
The day was silent; nobody was to be seen. It was as if everyone had decided to be alone, or to do something out of sight. The feeling kept following her through the day — while she was in the library, cooking, or even steaming her tea. Something was different.
Walking through the palace with no other thoughts in mind, she kept looking for something to ease the anxiety, something that might give her a little hint of what was about to come. Something was about to arrive, and now that the wind changed, the mist — even the mist — would change too.
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That thought made her run through the door of the first room she saw. Looking at the sky, hours later for the first time, she confirmed it to herself by saying out loud:
“THE MIST HAS GONE.”
She ran through the palace until the stairs that led to the king’s room. There was no king there. There had never been — not in her lifetime, and that was already something beyond measure. There was no time there, only the constancy of the mist. But that day, the mist was gone.
When the woman finally came to the door and opened it, there in its place was the sword — beautiful, untouchable. No one had ever stood a chance to even touch it. Shining like a star. Excalibur, the sword of the king of kings, had awakened.
Perhaps, a king was about to return.
