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12-15-2012, 02:34 PM
He allowed the Time Mender to do the talking; the monster did not delight in conversing, preferring to remain the aloof, apathetic behemoth, trenchant and mordant, locked in the fabric of shadows and lethality. Instead of rendering his voice, coarse, blunt and stark, he listened and studied. A creature woven in the scrupulous, methodical intrigue of despair and bedlam, the chilling rancor of his glare remained poised upon the femme, scouring, pondering over the state of her turmoil, the unrest of her bidding, the sentiments of her appearance. Unrelenting in the wake of their chaotic, turbulent haze, she didn’t appear ruffled, perturbed or agitated by the promise of their brutality, by the wicked cataclysm of their sculpted machinations. Was she alike to their doctrine, blended and blurred by loathing, contempt, executing and bludgeoning the feeble until they were ultimately discarded, thrown away to pieces of ash, comfortable killer in the midst of anarchy? Was she barbed, sainthood scrapped, stripped, from armaments of seething, assailed falsehoods? Did she crave what they did, bent, patient, bleeding desire for the calamitous arches of presaged, augured allurement, the danger, the predacious grandeur of the ravenous, the avaricious, the voracious? When the seditious splendor of his stare found no more information, he twisted his gaze towards the leaves, devil’s witness to their defeat at his hands, curling, unfurling, devoured by the disorder, the puissance of his beguiling existence. Eternally wicked, everlastingly iniquitous, he broke the silence of his rapacious stature by uttering the query that his fellow patriot had not, slinking the blue haze back to her ivory figure, capturing the canvas of her entity with the atrocious ether of his depraved abhorrence. His voice, the resonance of diabolical fiends and nefarious croons, cast the shade of their sinister intentions, why they stoked the flames of the Threshold, why they locked the chords of upheaval; to claim creatures of their own barbarity, of their own licentious creed. “What do you search for?”
