Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Cloaked


Much like a ghost, whose true power to frighten lies in the imagination and may last only a few seconds, Sebastian has little lasting power or influence on that which surrounds him. For most of his reality never leaves the confines of his own mind. His mind is trapped in fatality. 

The Binding


Sebastian Mauser Elias considers that many people have secrets. Surely this is not a new concept and yet, what is so interesting to him about a secret, is that it is locked deep within a non-physical vault, with a cryptic combination to protect it away. Its retrieval might be dangerous and destructive. The act of holding a secret itself is completely neutral, but its power is entirely dependent on the one who holds it. Thus, Sebastian is not interested so much in the consequences of secrets, but in the reasons why they exist and how they control their sentries. These are much more telling about human nature. If the story is ever told. Is he too curious or too fearful of the mysterious? This is how he creates a sentiment on the subject... Sebastian imagines a room. It could be the room of a friend, or, it could be the room of one he does not know well at all. Much like a ghost, whose true power lies in the imagination and the skill to frighten may not last more than a few seconds, Sebastian has little power or influence on that which surrounds him, for, most of his reality never leaves the confines of his own mind. He creates the arrangement of this fictitious room, to perceive of what this moment would be if it existed. Then he places in a dusty corner, a small, black, leather bound book. He knows immediately after it appears to him that this is a special artifact, for it contains all the essence and allure of something that is frequently used by human hands. It rests nearby to other important looking books that enchant the eye with their colorful binding and gold print, but this small book sits slightly aside from the others, enough to signal its presence to the nervous eye as if it were something to be kept watch upon constantly. It almost emits of what it contains by thought alone; in some melody of stale air and silence soon to be disturbed by an unfortunate happenstance, it strikes a fear into them that see it. He doesn't dare open it, for it would surely show him something terrible about himself, some terrible idea that he be better off concealing beneath a binding of vague thought. Better off muting the melody than unleashing an uncontrollable force.