I re-wrote a piece of fiction (the history is fictional as well) according to the prompt 🙂
It just so happens that I live in a haunted castle in Ireland. Beyond the craggy cliffs of Mohr, lies a bruised medieval castle by the name of Blackheart. I had happened upon this castle when I was out exploring the scenic Irish countryside that boasting of colour and beauty. My attention was immediately drawn to the blackened towers intruding into the pale blue sky, setting a daunting image before my very eyes.
Of all the castles peppered across the country, Blackheart is the least appealing and perhaps the most dangerous. That is precisely the reason why I chose to live there.
According to an amalgamation of history and folklore, Blackheart was the battle ground for the war of 1719, fought between the neighbouring kingdoms of Perinthian and Worsomner. Their respective kings, Lineas and Alexander fought to the death without a single soul left standing. So much for the luck of the Irish.
When I am sleeping in the tower chambers I can hear muffled whispers of lost souls rifting in the air. On many occasions I’ve woken up, startled to hear cries of vengeance by long gone blood thirsty soldiers lost in limbo.
In my explorations, I discovered hidden passageways which were strategized for times of war and siege. Once I heard a man’s voice saying, “Those set on revenge must dig two graves, one for his enemy and one for himself.” Perhaps it was the ghost of King Lineas repenting his sins.
I went down the passage till it led me outside where I breathed in the fresh air. With musty dungeons encrusted with blood and ghosts roaming the corridors, I’m reminded that Blackheart is indeed a terrifying place to live.
Yet it draws me in all the more because every second I spend inside convinces me that there are stories seeped into each tapestry, painting and brick of the wall just waiting to be discovered…waiting for me. It almost bleeds of the past.
History can speak in so many ways and Blackheart teaches me to listen.