Gethsemane
By SMYGO4EVA
All that was once truth, be shattered from there on.
She was a creature of the darkness, of the blackest of the nights here, and he knew that it was his duty to slay those abominations.
As she was one, he could not.
In that kingdom, in an unholy land, she would be an heir to the throne where beasts have sat upon, and he would simply be a hunter.
What was left in the past refused to stay buried, let the ruins of those become dreams and false memories.
In a sacred garden, the flowers would wither and be painted with grey in their presence, for they were not human, not to step a foot on holy ground.
From the black abyss, she stays where her bloodline calls out to her, and she reaches out a hand to him, but he dares not take it.
The silvery-dark of the scythe cuts and breaks down what is there physically, but not what is there on a whole different plane.
Lifeblood as obsidian as the heart of a demon, a hunter wishes to eradicate it from existence, but hope for the future has been long gone.
What is to be buried would perhaps stay hidden, if not in the place of the holy, whereas one would not step on such sacred ground.
It is best left unscathed, or what would be born from that would be the very thing one despises.
Desolate, fading away, and into the infernal pit of despair and hate that it was born from, and away from what is chaste and pure.
As far as the eye can see, the sands of the ever-fading desert continue to be drifting from the existence of itself, just as everything else does in the end.