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One for sorrow
Young face etched with a grief beyond telling, a despair far more painful than the mortal wound given a body no longer hard and unyielding as the stone it once was, stone that he lies upon now, still and cold, a light, mocking wind whispering uncaring laughter in strands of hair soft again for a few scant weeks before, with his again-human weakness, condemning him.
Two for joy
She lies near him, the first to fall, struck down from behind without so much as a whisper, smile still fixed on her face, dark hair snatched and tangled around her face by the wind, wide blue eyes staring forward, unseeing, into the darkness, rich clothing now only so much finer a funeral shroud.
Three for a girl
Eyes as red as the blood that she shed, the rage in them as dead as she, rich crimson soaking her clothes, melding her hair against her body. Her hands are clenched around her magic talismans, lips parted with the final words of an unfinished incantation, useless as the dust swirling around her and spilling into her mouth.
Four for a boy
His eyes stare upwards, uncomprehending, lost as a child's, his armor shattered, cracked shards of metal digging deep into his ribcage, sword unwielded and abandoned on the ground where it fell. His arm is extended towards his sorceress, fingers splayed limply on lifeless ground. He, her companion, friend, lover-to-have-been, as helpless in the end as a babe, unable to defend against magic as dark and ancient as the primordial chaos itself.
Five for silver
Under skies clouded iron grey, beams charred black by magic fire stand brittle and erect, stabbing the sky with splintered ends. Amidst the burned remains lie the argent fragments of a dragon's egg, cracked open, the unmoving, unborn infant covered in the dull, wet gleam of spilled fluids, black feathers of his tiny wings curled over his face, murdered before the first moment of his second life.
Six for gold
Some feet away, crushed by collapsing walls, a golden banner of hair flutters in the wind, as yet unsullied by ashes, by the threatening rain. Not so the purity of her gloves, once white as driven snow, now greyed with smoke, ribbons of red twining down delicate, slender fingers and dropping like the finest of ruby beads into the ruin. Her face, crushed against unforgiving wood, is twisted with a mother's anguish, and the agony of knowing she had not the strength to protect the child given to her care.
Seven for a secret
Silhouetted against the ominous skies, the cruel wind that is not so cruel as he tugs enticingly at the edges of his cloak, a dagger of lightning raising a garnet shine of light from the stone in his staff, casting his face in bloody red and blinding white as he lifts his head, stark shadows playing across his features.
Never to be told
Eyes as deep and fathomless as the darkest of jewels, sharp as the most deadly of swords, open as he smiles--a faint thing, but so dark, chilling, cold and empty as the deep black voids of space. The wind caresses around him once, lingeringly, and he is gone in a flickering of shadows, leaving in place of his silence only the roll of thunder, and the cries of gathering crows.
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Don't ask me any why's. This wasn't written to make sense or fit into a larger story; it was written solely for the imagery and the fact that when I first read the poem, the last line slapped me in the face and said, "Write Xellos darkfic for me now." It would work better as a series of illustrations, I think, but I can't draw for shit, so I just wrote it instead.
Any thoughts? .... Any thoughts other than that I'm a sadistic bitch?
Oh, and Happy Halloween, minna. *grins*