Set
04-29-2023, 06:38 PM
Tell me how he died, she says - demands, in a sickly drawl - and he gathers up the pieces of his son’s name with a scowl, as if her speaking of him as dead could somehow permanently remove the devil from this plane.
“He’s not dead,” he says matter-of-factly, casting his gaze out over the Chamber. Autumn is in full swing, the reds and golds of the deciduous trees crowded by the perpetuity of the evergreens. Turning back to the bleeding stranger, his eyes snag on the corner of her smile, lingering on the ivory stained red and where grime cakes and gathers. It is only a moment or two, though, and then he is moving back to meet her red stare. “He is like you … but not the same as you,” he continues, cryptically, rolling his shoulders as if to shrug. Remembering the unbidden way her undead flesh heaved with life not hers. He knows what he means, but his mind still buzzes with the return of the Chamber, his blood humming with a sense of purpose he has not felt in decades; he does not bother to further elaborate, instead switching subjects.
“Why are you here?”
He shifts his weight, restless. He is distracted and it’s obvious. A deep sigh. When the Chamber rose, he answered its siren’s call. And though his history is rooted in the bedrock of the resurrected kingdom, there are still years and dozens of magical changes that yawn between then and now … his stare traces the blood’s path as it runs down the fine bone structure of her face. Life spilling out over death’s canvas … he blinks, mentally recoiling from that particular existential brink.
“He’s not dead,” he says matter-of-factly, casting his gaze out over the Chamber. Autumn is in full swing, the reds and golds of the deciduous trees crowded by the perpetuity of the evergreens. Turning back to the bleeding stranger, his eyes snag on the corner of her smile, lingering on the ivory stained red and where grime cakes and gathers. It is only a moment or two, though, and then he is moving back to meet her red stare. “He is like you … but not the same as you,” he continues, cryptically, rolling his shoulders as if to shrug. Remembering the unbidden way her undead flesh heaved with life not hers. He knows what he means, but his mind still buzzes with the return of the Chamber, his blood humming with a sense of purpose he has not felt in decades; he does not bother to further elaborate, instead switching subjects.
“Why are you here?”
He shifts his weight, restless. He is distracted and it’s obvious. A deep sigh. When the Chamber rose, he answered its siren’s call. And though his history is rooted in the bedrock of the resurrected kingdom, there are still years and dozens of magical changes that yawn between then and now … his stare traces the blood’s path as it runs down the fine bone structure of her face. Life spilling out over death’s canvas … he blinks, mentally recoiling from that particular existential brink.
@miseria