Apathy, apathy. Worlds. Music. Sinister, swirling colors in the shade of sky-kissing towers. Apathy. A pulse, a firm beat of the heart, and lightning. A luminescence in the darkness, a flickering mosaic of candlelight against the stony walls. Apathy. Frozen tears and sleepless nights. A shining sore on the sky's body, a generator humming to the tune of the pulse. Apathy.
Sounds and scratches and wounds, shattering glass. A burning throat and spent voices, a broken whisper. A drop of ruby blood like a dark crystal. Cracks in the wall, and an impact as loud as a thunderclap. Apathy? A silhouette, impaled on a cruel pike. The stench of death, another skull in the heap below the throne.
Fires and tears and great, strong bellows, winds like razor knives and razor knives like winds whipping across pale skin. Blood discolored, black and vile like sludge, congealing and sticking and bonding and black as night. A sword in the hand. A… pathy? Faceless and writhing, melting, but unfeeling. Chills. Ice. Frozen.
A hand?
Apa…
I'll take it.
...thy.
Thawing in the warmth of the touch. Open doors and wafting scents, a glimmer of something in the sky, a gem of the heavens. Warm tears, warm nights, warm and entangled limbs. A soul like sunshine, and a racing heart. Dark colors cowering in the shadows, bright colors embracing the spires. Music. Worlds. Happiness.
