Descriptive Writing

Billows of darkness smoulder into a red sunset. The ever changing face above, morphed into a grimace as charcoal wisps entice the atmosphere. Pirouetting tawny leaves waste no time escaping; scurrying in disarray past the wretched area that tempts them to stay a few moments more with the confident malicious grin of a force truly evil. The rays of justice are replaced by a tedious, starless canvas. The houses’ triangular hats are poised and manage to keep their composure, shielding unwilling eyes. Their structures tower: well defined, prominent chestnut veins of planks, only more daunting when accompanied by the stone barrier which proudly shows off its battle scars.
The clock tower, chiming with glee, stands at the villagers' side. Marking how many minutes and seconds the maiden has left. A madman's smirk carved onto the clock face; growing wider with every passing second. Every second she could have spent in an elegant field, far away from the inferno she is now trapped in. Gusts of air, carousels of agony, carry nothing but hate and pain. The piercing wind shrieks the word, an octave louder and louder than the last.
"Betrayal!"
The daunting hour comes closer as her body grows weak. Although her fate is inevitable, the fire in her eyes has not left her obsolete. Burning against the crowd’s rage ever so brightly, challenging even the strongest of opponents. Her locks that once rivalled the rays of the sun block her vision as she start praying for anything. Shrill screams for her saviour escape her cold lips. Desperation clouds her thoughts as she is drugged with the excruciating sense of pain. Determination courses through her veins. She scans for any sign of a miraculous escape from the solemn hour. However, her fate is no one's fool. She watches as virtue reduced to vice.
The flames of justice are lit for a new tomorrow. The mahogany shape her saviour was pinned to is buried in her unclean attire; not even that is safe from the clasps of the ongoing inferno. The