Chapter 1
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone
He sits...a forgotten hero....waiting amidst the crowd of people, a broken god curled in on himself....fighting fear, fighting emotion he will never defeat...the thoughts that spiraled him into himself, into a dull ache that fed and grew fat on cheap liquors, insomnia and suffering. His only love is Lady Death But he has never found love a requited thing. This is his eternal penance for an unforgivable sin Memory has taken the form of a hulking shadow beneath his dreams It has collected all of his crimes in a great black book. And it has collected the names...all the names...starting, of course, with hers. It chants them in a neverending litany, growing stronger with each tear.
On that final day, the day of the fire and the smoke he had knelt with the limp, shattered body of that fallen angel...his fallen angel....cooling against his chest. And for the last time, his mind had shattered. Those others, the warm, vibrant ones, had called out to him in worry, in a sort of trembling, ironic glee. "...collapsing!!! We gotta...." "Wait!!! Come on! We won! We finally killed HIM!" "Hey! DAMN....Whut the HELL do you think YOUR doing?" "Shhhhh...he's been waiting for this moment, Garret, waiting to avenge Her death. He can finally rest." At that last moment as he was ripped from his last hope, carried away from the comforting kiss of death, he met with eyes the colour of fading rubies. Eyes that glimmered with pain. Eyes that knew that he had not avenged his love, But ended it.
Ruby eyes.....a covered face....those eyes had only shown emotion that once.
Deep, tearing grief Unending... (a tainted sword ripping into pure flesh...blackness...fever and breaking....fighting the healer's hands, rain, and tears, and blood.) The hero stumbles upward, grasping his sword, alcohol's sweet mist twisting him within himself. He stumbles from the place, heart lost, soul vanished.
And alone in the dark, gazing down at the shining blade, his last and only companion, he realizes that it has betrayed him as well. It greedily took the life of his only hopes, and it drained every last drop of perfectly designed life.
To let this lustful blade have him, as well, would be far too appropriate...ending his epic with the instrument of his filthy victory. As he forces the blade between his ribs, he realizes he can feel no pain. Years of futile warfare has dulled his nerves to a strange, apathetic network that understands the intrustion, but fails to report it. The blade is (Sunset on a cold day in the northern lands, the exhaustion of travel through endless white star fields, and the heat of a fire stinging frozen skin at the end of a silent day) perfect. A shattered sob, a broken voice..."thank you..." And his Lady covers his eyes with her blindfold, whispering empty promises of conclusions.
They find him, carry him to the healer, and they curse his sword, the greedy thing for committing such a heinous deed. They cannot let their hero die. They will make sure he lives forever. It is all he deserves.
He sits...a forgotten hero....waiting amidst the crowd of people, a broken god curled in on himself....fighting fear, fighting emotion he will never defeat...the thoughts that spiraled him into himself, into a dull ache that fed and grew fat on cheap liquors, insomnia and suffering. His only love is Lady Death But he has never found love a requited thing. This is his eternal penance for an unforgivable sin Memory has taken the form of a hulking shadow beneath his dreams It has collected all of his crimes in a great black book. And it has collected the names...all the names...starting, of course, with hers. It chants them in a neverending litany, growing stronger with each tear.
On that final day, the day of the fire and the smoke he had knelt with the limp, shattered body of that fallen angel...his fallen angel....cooling against his chest. And for the last time, his mind had shattered. Those others, the warm, vibrant ones, had called out to him in worry, in a sort of trembling, ironic glee. "...collapsing!!! We gotta...." "Wait!!! Come on! We won! We finally killed HIM!" "Hey! DAMN....Whut the HELL do you think YOUR doing?" "Shhhhh...he's been waiting for this moment, Garret, waiting to avenge Her death. He can finally rest." At that last moment as he was ripped from his last hope, carried away from the comforting kiss of death, he met with eyes the colour of fading rubies. Eyes that glimmered with pain. Eyes that knew that he had not avenged his love, But ended it.
Ruby eyes.....a covered face....those eyes had only shown emotion that once.
Deep, tearing grief Unending... (a tainted sword ripping into pure flesh...blackness...fever and breaking....fighting the healer's hands, rain, and tears, and blood.) The hero stumbles upward, grasping his sword, alcohol's sweet mist twisting him within himself. He stumbles from the place, heart lost, soul vanished.
And alone in the dark, gazing down at the shining blade, his last and only companion, he realizes that it has betrayed him as well. It greedily took the life of his only hopes, and it drained every last drop of perfectly designed life.
To let this lustful blade have him, as well, would be far too appropriate...ending his epic with the instrument of his filthy victory. As he forces the blade between his ribs, he realizes he can feel no pain. Years of futile warfare has dulled his nerves to a strange, apathetic network that understands the intrustion, but fails to report it. The blade is (Sunset on a cold day in the northern lands, the exhaustion of travel through endless white star fields, and the heat of a fire stinging frozen skin at the end of a silent day) perfect. A shattered sob, a broken voice..."thank you..." And his Lady covers his eyes with her blindfold, whispering empty promises of conclusions.
They find him, carry him to the healer, and they curse his sword, the greedy thing for committing such a heinous deed. They cannot let their hero die. They will make sure he lives forever. It is all he deserves.