Work Text:
The air is unusually humid for an Alternian night. Stars gleam brightly in a haze covered sky and a stale breeze corrodes the atmosphere. The crowd gathers before the tormentful obelisk; they spew hatred from their mouths, and it drifts through the night like an all consuming mist. The words of the damned echo through their skulls before seeping into their bones. His words spill forth, freed from their lifelong barrier of forgiveness and peace. His sermon cracks like ice through the backbone of society. His partisans weep before him, held back by the boots and chains of the wicked. Expletives roll off his tongue and fall to die at his feet, as he too comes to pass.
His Jaded mother is taken, limp, her fight having died with her son. Sparks fly as his companion is dragged away to face a fate far worse than the others. All that remains is his disciple, and she is scared. Her flesh quivers, and her hair stands at end, claws scratching at herself in desperation, fight or flight apparent in her wide and hollow eyes. She clings desperately to all that remains.
That look is far too familiar, one he should not know. He remembers, though its like trying to peer through a forest at a distant scene.
The Archer is called forth to end her, and damn if you don’t desire to crush his skull in your hand. The force of dread sits upon her palanquin, amused smile wrecking her face. A scream tears through the back of your mind, truly echoing the horror of the vast honk itself, and you suddenly find yourself wondering if the wretched feline can hear the jeers being hurled at her.
The Archer draws his bow and sets his stance. He’s so close that you could simply reach forward and break him. Break him before he can break her any more. She glances up and her eyes connect to yours. You want to say something, to stop this, but it feels as if your mouth has been sewn shut. Your hand drifts slightly at your side, moving of its own accord, and a small smile ignites her face.
In the end you spare the man, despite whatever had been called from the throne. She would be long gone by now, and if he were smart, he soon would be too. You fall back into normality and by the next night your mind no longer mulls over why your hands had professed love.