Drip, drop, drip...

A simple cadence, a soothing lullaby, licking away the sting that seemed to have rotted its way into his cranium, drilling and worming its way into the delicate recesses of his equally delicate mind. A distant, steady roar could be heard in the distance from ther larger room with the waterfalls, echoing through the twists and turns of the elaborate network of caverns, but it had since become white noise to him. The large beast, a hulking mass of huddled, fearful, ebony, with lengthy tendrils of shadowed mane and tail furled and knotted, lay pressed against the stone wall, feather riddled pillars tucked as close to his person as he could possibly get them without sucking his very own legs into his undercarriage.

... Drip...

He was awake, counscious, but not there, not in his head as he should have been. How long had he been there? How long had he been huddled in the safety of the Sunken Falls, hidden away from the dangers of the world, and from... From her? Molten gold oculars stared downcast in a daze, dully tracing patterns only he could distinguish in the dirt, dust coating nearly every inch of his impressive size. It was testament as to how long he had been down there, hidden from view, from those who may be searching for him, slowly losing his mind to whatever demon kept dripping nearby. Slowly letting his mind be lost, letting it shrivel and break off in large chunks... Maybe, soon, the chunks would become larger, and he would forget.

Maybe, the cave that had been protecting him would crumble around his very ears and bury him alive. A silent grave. How very befitting.

A powerful snort worked its way from Vincent's nostrils, the force of it sending tremors through the brute's frame, rattling bones that were capable of crushing others, yet not strong enough to push him upright. Terror had exhausted him, pushed him past the precipice of sanity, leaving his mind in a daft, shallow, and sluggish state. He was so tired... So very, very tired.

Tired...

Tired of fear, of panic, of that terrible, looming demon that lived over his shoulders, the demon that promised death, pain, suffering, salvation. Vincent was tired of the silence, the loneliness, the unknowing, the waiting... Death would come, and it would come soon. He was certain. Death would arrive, a large shadow, a silent assassin, and when he looked upon his killer, Vincent was terrified to know that he would see only himself. Archibald...

The hulking beast lay still as death, and the only signs of life were the steady expansion and deflation of his sides as his lungs worked on their own, oblivious to his plight and yearning for death. If only they would stop... Death would come so swiftly, and it wouldn't be something to fear.

Drip... Drip...

@[Abraham]

swimming through the ashes