I've had that dream again.
That strange place, so distant, yet so close to my heart. Buildings as tall as mountains.
Dead structures, watching with dead eyes. Empty, vast and endless honeycombs of stone and steel.
Air filled with gray ashes, always fluttering from the cloudy sky.
The black vortex opens up in the sky, descending down to the city.
The vortex spiral rips the city apart, bending the air itself, feasting on light, feasting on time.
There is a lonely figure standing in the street.
No matter how hard I try to make out his or her expression, I cannot.
Is there no face there at all? Or perhaps there is a million human faces there, intertwined and flickering in unison, as bright as the light of ten thousand suns?
The being stares into the abyss of the vortex.
It takes another step towards it, into the horizon of nothingness, into a place where nothing can exist.
The stones of the roadway beneath its feet crumble and flutter in the air, colliding with each other.
Has it no fear of the black void? Perhaps it thinks that the void cannot affect it?
But, can it affect the void?
I suddenly realize that the being is searching for me, and that I am its servant.
The faceless one speaks.
It plans to drink the vortex dry.
It plans to find me.
...The faceless one will surely take me away from my home.
I awake, covered in sweat, my heart pounding, terror gripping my mind.
I have to see my Angel.
He always calms me down in times like these.
For me, mirrors never work right. The surface of reflection doesn't show me what is, but instead reveals a reality which runs in some kind of twisted parallel to ours.
Perhaps for me, the mirrors are so thin that they reveal the true manner of things?
All my life I've seen my black and white knight in reflective surfaces and mirrors.
As far back as I could remember it, the knight was there for me and I could admire his wonderful and strange armour of black and white patches, his face-shield made of materials foreign to our world, his gorgeous lenses of blue cobalt, as sparkly and blue as my own eyes.
This is nothing odd, my father had told me - he is your guardian angel, and he is always watching over us.
You should be proud to have an angel, in these dark times of despair.
If it wasn't for a hired painter, I would never know what my face actually looks like.
I caress the surface of the mirror, seeking solace.
Oh Angel, my Angel
Wherever you be
So calm so serene
Always watching over me.
My brother? My lover?
My heartstrings aflutter
So close, yet so far.
My knight, my guide, my star.
Could you, would you tell me please?
Would you put my mind at ease?
What will my tomorrow be
What fate awaits me?
Most of this comic, "Amber" frames specifically, were drawn by the incredible Russian illustrator Christina Zakhozhay: http://christinzakh.deviantart.com/
18th October 2012