English Version
gothique et romantique

The prohibited stage

Publié le 4 Juil 2012

How much time did I say you not to go up at the top of the staircase? So often that I remember it more. But, it was necessary that you go there. It was stronger than you. Prohibition was a call to disobedience. You were to assemble the steps of this last stage which you stays refused. You always said that you would not do it. I did not believe myself. I know your nature, your desire to force the closed doors to exist in the refusal to obey. But to obey, it was you to protect, avoid you suffering because I know that up there on the last floor what you will find there is not for you. You are so fragile, if vulnerable. But perversity to assemble the steps to was strongest. You put your hand on the wood slope, posed your foot on the first walk. It occurred anything. It could nothing occur if it is not that I surprise you. But, that was impossible you expected my departure. Then, free, you climbed each walk with like a release. In the large elbow of the staircase, you saw the slightly opened door, the light coming from the outside. I knew that you would come. As much to rather receive you with an open door than closed because you would have still returned still and so much so that becomes an obsession. Also, you crossed the elbow of the staircase. You arrived in top. You pushed the door. There was behind the vacuum of uninhabited parts. Nothing. You remained quiet leaving the mark of your steps on the dust of this apartment where I do not go any more. I trusted you. I believed you able to resist the trap of a dream of tale for children. You believed to find Beard Blue, the corpses of his wives. You were afraid of my return whereas you crossed the door of my interdict. Poor insane. Your fear was the containing hydrocarbon one of your disobedience. You wanted to have shivers. Didn’t you find that disappointment with your waiting and a question why of having prohibited to me to go up? This interrogation haunts to you now. More than to go up up there towards the prohibited stage. Never you will know that it was about a trap that I tightened you. Te do you remember in this furtive way with which you answered my question, “you spent a good afternoon?” Not, you do not remember any more a tone lie. Me, if, I remember the mark of your steps on the floor of the last stage as the single proof that I will be able to never trust to you. It was the direction of my interdict and all the value of your promises…


le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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