Cry of Silence

Creak.

Ghastly Spell's light hoofsteps echoed throughout the house as he walked across the hall, and out of his bedroom, the floorboards bent and groaned underneath him, he didn't want to wait, it wasn't as if he had a choice, he would never be able to rest with that wretched tapping torturing him, the origins still remained a burning question in his mind.

He trotted quietly until he no longer felt the lingering threat behind him, it had been quite some time since he recalled stepping out of his room. He couldn't even recall the last time he's looked into a mirror, but he hadn't the mind to do it now either way. The hall was dark, darker than he recalled, there were no windows shedding the faintest of light from outside, the only light he could see now, was the dimming light from his open bedroom, which slowly disappated behind him as he trudged further into the darkness.

The house was barely a home, it was cold and grim, much like himself. He could faintly make out silhouettes of paintings across his vision, but none he could fully decipher, he would have been able to recall the contents of the paintings and pictures before, if he had only thought to do so.

He paused momentarily, realizing he could simply light his horn.

"What an idiot..."

He muttered sourly to himself, he had a horn this entire time! Why hadn't he thought to use it before? Had it really slipped his mind like everything else? Had it been there the whole time? Ghastly glanced up at his horn, it was numb and cold from underuse for who knows how long, he sighed before closing his eyes, attempting to invision a bright light...

Flash.

His horn flared up with a soft spark of magic, it had momentarily caught him off guard, seeing as he hadn't used much of his horn at all for however long it had been. The tip of his horn glowed, emitting swirls and flares of faded and grey sparkles, he found himself entranced in it's light for a moment.. he never realized how long it had been since he saw anything other than the light of the moon, avoiding sunlight whenever possible, but this was a gentle, warm, and comforting light, as the sun is for most other ponies.

He focused on keeping his horn lit, and blinked away the spots of light swirling around in his vision, he looked around at the now illuminated hallway, then, at the paintings hung on the walls beside him...

The paintings were watching him.

Ghastly Spell's heart began to beat wildly in his chest, his body froze, for a moment he thought he would lose his concentration and his horn would go out at any moment. The paintings, they were watching him, he knew they were, yet he didn't know why he felt this way, he was suddenly overcome with such a primal fear, as if he was a cornered animal about to become something else's meal.

He no longer felt safe. As quick as it came, the comfort his light gave him disapated, much like the comfort of his room did when the tapping began, this was different, this was worse, he could see the eyes of each painting, each picture, etched with a look of disdain as they all towered over him upon the wall, remnants of the past he loathed and begged to forget. He didn't dare to move, anticiapting that the eyes of each painting and picture would move with him, and he would surely panic then, he didn't know what to do.

It seemed no matter where he was, he was at a loss..

Bang.

Suddenly, thunder cracked and roared in the distance outside, a loud, abrasive warning of the storm yet to come. It caught Ghastly off-guard, and he unfortunately lost whatever concentration he had newly obtained...

His horn abruptly stopped producing light, leaving him in the darkness...