Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
The clocks hands methodically beat out the rhythm.
Wraths hands itched to tap out the beat with the inanimate clock but he resisted, curling himself up on the sofa, reasoning he was too old to play with clocks.
He curled into his fetal, protective ball tighter, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip. A sudden flow of blood from his lip shocked him to reality.
Sloth wasn't back yet. She should've been back by now. He got up and paced the black, dim carpet.
Slower
Faster
Slower.
Groaning in dismay at his agitated walk, he fell on the couch, not noticing the dribble of blood that dripped onto his shirt
His fingers started tapping again to the clocks steady, faithful beat one, two, one, two, one, two. He cocked his head, listening for the noise of a door or any other sign of the activity of entering a house.
But there was nothing, only the occasional howl of the wind and or Lusts drawn out, cold laugh held up by the intermittent giggle of Envy's over their card game, below Wrath in the kitchen of the mansion.
Wrath sighed and tried to block out the superfluous noise and confusion and focus, just focus. He repeatedly emptied his mind of anything that cluttered it with unnecessary things.
He got up slowly, his legs violently protesting at being shaken from their tranquil sleep, he hit them a few times and walked, tottering like a infantile child to the frost covered, outsized window, sitting on the shadowy window seat by it.
Wrath reached up and drew a hand across his mouth, reveling in the feel of the dark blood against his oddly hued, miss-matched, skin. Writhing the blood onto his fingers, he stared for a minute then took a breath and wrote a wish on the windowpane. His words, smeared with brackish blood and spelt backwards were sent as a prayer to whoever was out there to protect Sloth.
He smiled and whispered to the cold sill.
"Come home safe, mother."
He closed his eyes and curled tranquilly on the window ledge, he fell deep into dreams of clocks and blood.
Sloth walked in the pale moonlight, slowly on barefoot, dancing feet, and looked up to the window with a dream written on it. She smiled and came, dancing home, creeping upstairs, not wanting to wake up any of the family. Finally she came to Wraths dim room, she picked Wrath up gently, like a limp, doll and carried him to his black covered bed, wiping the blood from his mouth and small hand, and arranged the pillow.
She kissed his cherubic cheek and stroked his dark, silky hair and whispered,
"I'm home, angel."
------------------------------- I love Wrath. I really do...Yessss, very oddddd. R&R!!!!! tanks a million snuggles!havoc