Advent Calender Day 8 - write a fic using the prompt 'Flight'. And so Nasch angst. Isn't that fun?
He was confined to the little sad ground as the stars in the sky mocked him.
They were perfectly free to do as they pleased, which consisted of moving around in the night sky, but he couldn't. He had to sit there and face the deaths that he saw. Face the deaths that he caused.
Nasch knew that he couldn't fly up there and follow them, or become one of them. The first required wings, something that a king couldn't make. The second one required him to be pure, and he definitely wasn't pure. One who helped cause the death of two whole armies couldn't be labeled such.
But still, couldn't he try? Even if he grew demonic wings, or ones bearing the weight of all those deaths, couldn't he fly up there and leave this place? Leave it and never return?
And yet, everything was preventing him from soaring. They all weighed him down and brought him back to this ground. Back to this living nightmare.