“The world is surface, a shimmery veil of illusion…”

I have begun experimenting with language translations. Here is the first story of many, I hope, Chapter 1 - The Haunted Caves, from the novel The Gates of Horn and Ivory, in French.

The communicants started their descent into the depths of the earth, with nothing to light their way other than the high priestess’s torch.

I walk through the sleeping garden, footsteps muffled by the freshly fallen snow, watching the clean white reflect a rosy and baby blue watercolor sky.

As if waiting for a sign, the clouds gathered over the horizon. Jal looked at them, and in his relief allowed a tear to flow. Deafening thunder shook the heavens, echoing between the stone walls before it retreated in a low rumble. Another tear flowed down Jal’s cheek. That’s when the rain started.