A/N so I started writing an angsty one-shot about Angela post 1x15, and what started as me looking up the mysteries of the rosary somehow became...this. instead an angsty expirimental thing that takes place just post 2x10 instead. *shrug*. title comes from the Latin - translates to Now, and at the hour of our death.
The world is ending.
Fire. Brimstone.
What is one romp in the garden of original sin going to matter in this land of Sodom and Gommorah?
She is crying, silently against your shoulder and you are Lot's wife; a pillar of salt dissolving slowly drop
By
Drop.
The world is ending.
The horsemen have ridden across the sky, spreading their famine, pestelence and war.
All that is left is death.
And she is crying silently against you, though her shoulders shake she makes not a sound.
Certainly not one you can hear over the sound of the temple tearing in two.
The world is ending.
Oh, sometimes it causes you to tremble.
Tremble.
Tremble.
She was there when they pierced you in the side.
Pierced yourself.
Whatever.
When you put yourself one mark closer to your god. One more stigmata, marking you forever.
And you hate that she was there for that.
She is innocence.
She is purity.
She is choirs of seraphim, shining light into all your dark spaces.
The world is ending.
It was a message brought to you; delivered personally from on high by Gabriel himself.
And you had been called upon so that her world through you might be saved.
You are no lion of Judah.
You are a lamb.
Timid. Meek. On unsteady legs.
You are not a savior. You are not a king, a prince, a scholar. You did not ask for this burden to bear, and you would have rather borne it alone.
She chose to be your shepard.
But the seventh seal has opened, and you came face to face with the devil himself.
The world is ending.
Supernova. Inferno.
Scorched earth leaving nothing behind.
The pale horse has rode through, and the souls have been weighed.
You are simply waiting to be cast into the river of flame.
And she is crying, silently against your shoulder.
And you are willing to sacrifice yourself to prevent her from being tainted by your original sin.
Prevent her from being tainted by all of your sins.
You have walked through the valley of the shadow of death, but you fear this evil.
The world is ending.
And even though you have rolled away the stone to rise up from where you were cruicified, you have not won.
Because she is your Mary Magdalene, deserving of so much more, deserving of a holy name to be worshiped and glorified.
Ave Maura, gratia plena.
Pray for us sinners.
Because you are impure.
You will be unmarked on your forehead when the time of judgement comes.
Tonight, if you sleep, you know you will dream of locusts; with faces and hair, but the teeth of lions and breastplates of iron.
And you want nothing more than to defile her.
Make her as impure as you are.
Brand her with your sins.
Drag her bodily into Hades with you.
You almost have.
The world is ending.
Fire. Brimstone.
And she is crying silently against your shoulder, and you are Lot's wife, a pillar of salt and she is dissolving you drop
By
Drop.
