Though the sky was dense with clouds, the light of my curiosity attracted by Middle Age legends, helped my eye decipher the battlements of the old castle defeated by time and knelt by the past ages, but still black and ominous in the pale light. A vast silence reigned over the land which itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness.
I could feel the great grayish walls, which had tumbled down in places, loomed from the passionate embrace of the ivy, colorful stained-glass, thousands of thoughts were tumbling out and my heart, a mosaic of colorless feelings, bowed in front of this grandeur. The doors had been burnt and above the obsolete fortress containing no time, nor memories of time seemed to hover the souls who had died in battle.
The image of the old castle, framed by the sparse, wan leaves, touched with mortality and waiting to pass out into nothingness, benumbed faith to a sense of pain. The pale candles of life, once flickering on the large corridors, were waiting to resign and join darkness. An oppressive atmosphere was dinging in the air, just above the lanky towers.
And yet, steeped in sentiment as it lay, spreading its abandoned memories to visitors and whispering from its towers the last enchantments of the middle Age, the castle had an ineffable charm because it had been witnessing from its time of yore the ages dying quietly as ever were leaves just about to fall and was still standing up, like a testimony of its bravery in the defiance of the past.
