.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
12-25-2013, 04:00 PM
Very few things tempted the Reaper from his iron, nonchalant gaze: his family, bloodshed, intrusions and war. Shiny lights were not enough to coax his trenchant sculpture away from the icy chambers of his homeland (nor was tinsel or phoenixes – unless they were going to somehow burn him or conjure memories of his father, never reborn or rejuvenated), and instead, it became inquiry, suspicion, intrigue played against his meticulous, diligent senses. As bodies roamed towards the massive timber, like a beacon, like a trance, like a swarming plague of luminescent bulbs and insects drawn to their final, frenzied breath, he followed, villainous and wary, studying, examining, straying towards the side, a silent, malicious witness. What enticed them there, beyond the shiny exterior, the radiant opulence, the hospitable grandeur? Did anything harpoon them, weaken their convictions, strengthen their ineptitude? Did they become mere quandaries, gaping blooms, warped and shriveled, scaled and decrepit? But as more gathered, he noted, one by one, none were hurt, maimed, or torn. They were enamored, heightened, gliding and whistling upon the horizon, granted things, objects of decorum, and even as he widened his nostrils, the beast couldn’t fixate upon what they’d managed to snag. A few souls he recognized clambered amongst the frenzy, Ulrik, the engineer and mechanic, Arah, their wily, trustworthy Impersonator, and he thought he pictured the wintry physique of Mauja, but the lights could have been troubling his sight. And still, he nearly wanted no part of it – were they asking for these things, or taking them from beneath the boughs – or was it beseeched to them based on actions, saintly vows and virtues? He’d committed none of these actions in the past, swirling seasons, and so, lingered along the outer rim, amongst the tapestries and shadows, a hushed, licentious creed of curiosity.
