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09-27-2015, 11:22 AM
The promise of peace, of serenity, of tranquility made her reverence all the more sharper, clearer; she bowed along the stream of his oaths and assurances, glanced out into the realm and smiled. The world could still be beautiful, could still be incandescent, breathing life instead of death, conjuring pride and benediction instead of annihilation and violence – her song was serene, enchanting, a harmonious hum and hymn with the rest of the golden earth, all of its puddles, all of its whims. Allured and beguiled by the well wishes of the scorching deity, she and Imogen merely stood amongst the gathered and aspired, yearned, craved for the heavenly bounty to never wane, for the searing oaths to be remembered in their darkest days. They could enjoy what the kingdom had to offer: the lavished sentiments amongst the holy rites, the kindness and generosity of the patron God, who glowed and prospered with a saintly, paragon outreach- Then, ultimately, there was a rupture in the rapture. It came on scales and howls, discord and strife, and her heart crushed in on itself, the smile fading into nothingness. Misled again, tired of the call for anarchy, dismayed by how quickly, so readily, the pledges splintered and fractured, the pair simply remained, surrounded by horror, by terror, by the alterations in beings and bliss. How many more monsters would threaten their livelihood? How many more creatures would offer salvation, but soon turn bestial, savage, eager to maul and mutilate? How many more times would they be brandished hope, with none of it truly in sight? How many more lies would spout between vows and pledges? She held daydreams, expectations, of faith, confidence, and convictions throughout her crusades; but even now, they began to dim. Maybe she’d fought too many demons, seen too many treacheries, to instill all of her optimism into the world – perhaps, she’d learned the only things she could trust were the moments, the instances, the junctures, where they took the world for themselves. The whole wide entity of Helovia was fallible; imperfect mortals and flawed celestial beings, and together, they made an errant path. They, like lost, little lambs, always followed its jagged trail. They went to war. They conspired. They deceived. And still, she fought. She became part of the throng, part of the battle, and part of the acrimony, as hypocritical as the rest. While the horde clamored by them with roars and shackles, with bestial arts and nefarious intricacies, Lena continued to hum, slowly maneuvering closer, locked in a trance, in a haze, eyes swindling over the length of the visible reptile. Imogen did the same beside her, matching pitch for pitch, croon for croon, building a winding crescendo – at once beautiful, then pierced and sewn together with a brooding, sorrowful note. The bridge, the dirge, the requiem, lifted higher and higher, until it became all the more disastrous, dangerous, and she, the nymph, the Songbird, suddenly altered into a manifested phoenix, harking for entropy, for everything to end, to cease the madness with a bloodshed all her own. The embers coiled amongst the sky, rolling bits of fire and ash, conjured amidst her disappointments, her inner, brewing rage, and the seething, simmering motions of broken promises – because she should’ve stopped believing in covenants long ago, but her heart wouldn’t let her stop. [TEAM SUN GOD. No mentions. Attempts to get closer to the crocodile god and sing a rain of fire on him.] her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
