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i am the vanguard of your destruction
He didn't know which came first—the scents, the sounds, or the visions in his mind. His eyes on wings saw something. They saw something, and Mauja, who had been doing something, anything, nothing, didn't know what to do.
He couldn't do anything. Just stared vacantly ahead, mind floating on the steady beating of four wings. He recognized two of the three, and in the back of his head marveled at how alike they were—all black and white. Black bodies. White, faces, legs, but not their hearts. And blood, such red blood, and the sickening crunch of bones breaking, and the crackle of fire eating away at still-wet flesh. A child, a yearling, and a body. The yearling, making the body just a body. Taking away the spirit that lived beneath the injured, broken skin. Taking away her name, her breath, her memories. Taking away her life.
He had no fucking right. Not a single, fucking right, to maul and dance and cackle and paint with her blood as his colors and her body his canvas. He had no right to burn her before she was even dead, mockery and sacrilege.
The spaces in Mauja's chest—the ones that had been nothing but a slowly aching void—filled with fire and anger. And the darkness roared, blotted out the grief. The marble statue came to life, suddenly turning on his haunches, throwing himself into the motion; frosted hooves beat a quickly melting trail across the face of the world as he raced towards someone he was way too late to save anyway.
[ This is kind of short because THINGS - flails - The purpose of this has to wait two weeks. :| ]
He couldn't do anything. Just stared vacantly ahead, mind floating on the steady beating of four wings. He recognized two of the three, and in the back of his head marveled at how alike they were—all black and white. Black bodies. White, faces, legs, but not their hearts. And blood, such red blood, and the sickening crunch of bones breaking, and the crackle of fire eating away at still-wet flesh. A child, a yearling, and a body. The yearling, making the body just a body. Taking away the spirit that lived beneath the injured, broken skin. Taking away her name, her breath, her memories. Taking away her life.
He had no fucking right. Not a single, fucking right, to maul and dance and cackle and paint with her blood as his colors and her body his canvas. He had no right to burn her before she was even dead, mockery and sacrilege.
The spaces in Mauja's chest—the ones that had been nothing but a slowly aching void—filled with fire and anger. And the darkness roared, blotted out the grief. The marble statue came to life, suddenly turning on his haunches, throwing himself into the motion; frosted hooves beat a quickly melting trail across the face of the world as he raced towards someone he was way too late to save anyway.
[ This is kind of short because THINGS - flails - The purpose of this has to wait two weeks. :| ]
