What do you think? Critique?

A thick mist opens like unravelling folds in a curtain. A grey, bleak, but purposeful curtain.


A heavy curtain, festooned with showy ruffles and golden tassles.


A curtain in front of an invisible door.





All mists have purposes, you know.


A diversion is the most common. A fog on the motorway could mean that someone's opened a portal nearby, and needs the confusion to get to or fro.


But you can get the odd poisoning mist. A sleep mist. And then you get a Destroya mist, which can only be kept at bay, by another Destroya spell, or an elemental spell, however finding either of the majyk is incredibly rare.





It's an awkward procedure. The majyk involved entails a lot of intelligence and energy. Although, environmentally, it distributes a lot of oxygen nitrate- a plus indeed- of which Greenpeace thinks is down to them.


Little do they know.





The problem with mists is that it cannot increase, get smaller, change shape, or move from the floor. Gravity prevents it. Infact, it shares all other laws of science apart from the fact is it's Majyk, and when touched by it, a white poisonous tarry substance lingers.





But of course, only powerful sorcerers can create such portals and powerful sorcerers only usually tend to have bad intentions.





The mist dived down the cobbled steep steps, whipping leaves off branches into the sticky white tar that was the mist.


An orchestra of snapping tree bodies provided warning to the woodland creatures and people in the forest.


All but one.





Yawning, Cassopeia stretched on the thick tree branch, towering over Matlock and the famed long winding pathway that lead up to the top of the hillish forest.


GREAT, she muttered. PINS AND NEEDLES.


Groaning, when her cardigan snatched on some loose bark, she gathered her bearings and balanced herself, taking care not to put too much weight on her pin and needled legs.





"Ahh!" she gasped. Casi had been scouring the view from Top Tree for a good half hour, and had completely forgotten about what she had been here for.





But she forgave herself. She knew what it was like to capture the moment, and then be captured in the moment. It was why she loved taking photography. Although she could never bring herself to call herself photographer. For now, it was a pursuit, even though she had had a couple of nature shots and bustling tourists in Matlock published in some prestigious leaflets and marketing campaignes. Looking at Matlock streetway, she grinned at the sight of bikers, hundreds of them, some couples sharing the same biking leather, holding hands. She caught herself before she looked for matching blue and black motorbiking outfits, two people the practically the same height, same messy, unkempt hair, same worn smile; but not because Mum and Dad were tired, just because they used it so much.


Mum always said laughter lines were her favourite wrinkles, because they told everybody she was happy with her life, and not worrying about the end of it.


Casi held the tree for support, breathing heavilly.


It's been too long, Casi mumbled, amazed. But it feels like it happened last week or something.





It was unusual for Casi to dwell on such sadness, but maybe the peace and quiet had dredged up a few unwanted memories.


And then Casi noticed the silence was more like an absence of noise. She coughed happily.





Grappling onto a higher branch, her Canon HD camera swinging on her wrist, almost banging the tree, she lifted herself higher, trying to get part of some interesting brickwork into her next picture.





Click.





The mist slammed into Top Tree, shaking Casi like a weedy skyscraper caught in an earthquake. Her hold on the tree was stong enough to withstand it, but her pins and needles hadn't worn off. She lost her footing and tried frantically to grab onto something less flimsy than the branch above her. The shaking stopped, catching her off guard more than the beginning of it. Some intermediate training had warned her to be on guard, ready for anything. Her sweating fingers tried to keep hold of the camera strap, but her hands were contorted and it slipped off. Yelling loudly inbetween curses, she tried to catch it with her knees, but it fell right through. Hitting her head on the flimsy branch, and taking a good metre off with her, she fell through the foliage of the sixty foot tree, sharp spindly branches following her, speeding her fall further.





With her coffee coloured cardigan in tatters, matching her skin on her back, arms and bare legs, she slooped up, and lumbered around the debris of the suddenly icy white tree for her camera. Minutes of insufferable searching later, and she had reluctantly given up.





"I'll close my eyes, and when i open them, im going to see my beautiful camera, glimmering maybe a little, swinging off my wrist."


she opened one green eye, then the other.


"Bugger. What's the point of having majyk when you can't do anything?"


She slumped against the destroyed tree. She made a mental note to go the|||You certainly need to edit it and the first paragraph about the mist like a curtain could be better presented probably in one maybe two sentences instead of the four you have.


The story is descriptive and has a certain style and although the topic is not my cup of tea I like it and it is readable. Keep going with it and good luck.