This piece is just a little descriptive writing about an old castle.
The castle stood atop a small hill, peering over the surrounding forest. The stone walls were gray and weathered, their once smooth surface now covered with cracks and chips. Ivy crept up the sides, preparing to swallow the structure whole. The gates, once heavily guarded, now hung off their hinges, creaking with each gust of wind.
The statues lining the top of the structure were bent off balance and looked like they were being crushed by the sky when in reality it was the weight of time that had taken its toll on the busts. The cracks in their surfaces mirrored the wrinkles of skin, and their lopsided nature made it seem like they were trying to lie down.
The smell of mildew from the wood floors and the constant sound of dripping produced a damp atmosphere, the three dilapidated layers of roofing above proving to be incapable of withstanding the rain outside.
Wood components of unknown pieces of furniture were strewn across the floor, with only the occasional incongruous drawer still intact. The interior of the stone walls was covered in moss, with scratches that were remnants of what it used to contain. The house was a skeleton, with bones but no flesh.
Once a magnificent feature, the tree in the center of the castle was reduced to a shadow of its former glory. Its leaves, brown and soaked, were scattered around the floor, and the small minority that remained were barely hanging on, ready to find their final resting place on the ground below.
The wind whistled through the shattered glass panes, causing the leaves to dance about in a mournful symphony. With each gust, the crisp rustling sound amplified the castle's decay, painting a clear picture of its decline and the glory days it had once known.