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Remainder
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Drusilla stepped into the alley. Piles of dark, mangled shapes ran blood into the rain beneath her feet.
"Dead..." she whispered, looking up into the water, pouring down over her face in heavy sheets. It tugged her hair down into long, drowned tangles, and outlined her breasts against her pale dress.
She stepped delicately over the tail of a hulking mass of scales, seeping black blood out into the piles of red, torn flesh and scattered weapons. Among them she smelled one human— the air about him was young and powerful and noble. His flesh lay mangled on the pavement, under the scales and tendrils, cooling in the rain.
"Dead..." she whispered again, sighing the word out like a moan of pain. She could feel that pain and a mingled horror rising from the ground like steam in the summer heat. Half completed thoughts everywhere, whispers of what was, swift in tempo with the falling rain. She could hear her princes in that maelstrom, their words uncompleted and their long years cut short. And she knew there was dust among the bodies, and that no one would love her again.
"Dead..." she whispered, for the world was dead to her. The ground beneath her feet was ash.
And suddenly, she tilted her head to the side. In among the mourning whispers, one still lived.
The sound was quiet compared to the cries of the dead, clinging in her skull. But it was a Real Sound. A sigh, a twisting gasp deep in the throat. An intake of breath, clogged by mucus and raw muscles.
And that's when she saw the shape. It was sitting on the ground, palms on the pavement, hair falling about the head in wild blue strands.
A blue lady, blood flowing down her shoulder where her dark clothing was torn away from the flesh.
"You're not dead," Drusilla said, quietly, as she stepped in front of the woman.
The lady didn't look up. Her shoulders shook with the tears.
Drusilla crouched on the ground, and the blood from the ground soaked into her dress and onto her knees.
"You..." the blue lady spat out, the voice low and flat and strangled.
The lady's skin was tinted all over with the blue, save for the angry red gashes across her arm and collar bone. Her leathery clothes hung around the wounds, and she could see her breath rising and falling, working against broken bones with strangled effort.
"You knew them..."
Drusilla smiled, nodded eagerly.
"They fought for me and were the bravest of all the monsters that walked the earth."
The creature laughed a pained little laugh, and coughed. Blood speckled her lips as she did this, and Drusilla stared with dark, blank eyes, taking in what she saw. She reached out, and touched those lips, impulsively. They were cool and firm, and she could feel power in them. Power unto the beginnings of the earth. She gasped, and pulled her hand back, stained red across the tips.
"You have the sight," the woman said, "I can feel it in your touch. One as you would be revered in my time, and given a high place beside monarchs."
Drusilla smiled again, as if this was something she already knew.
"I'm a princess," she said calmly.
The woman leaned back, looking Drusilla in the face with tearstained eyes. They darted across Drusilla's form, looking at her carefully.
"You are their kin. I can sense it the blood beneath your skin. The blood... it was everywhere. It cries for vengeance."
"I can hear it crying," Drusilla agreed, "It called to me in my sleep, and I knew my princes needed me. But I came too late..."
"It would have done nothing but ensure your death. There were too many to fight."
"But I came to late to save them," Drusilla pleaded, looking out into the mass of bodies.
"No," the woman said, "You came too early. You see my shame."
"You are not dead."
The blue lady's eyes brimmed with the tears, that spilled over and ran down her cheeks, as if a great mortal wound were festering in her soul and flowing out over from her into the world.
"Would that I had fallen with the half breeds," she said, "For they are braver than I. There were so many, at the end. The battle grew impossible. And still they held, long after the human had fallen. They did not turn away."
She looked up into Drusilla's eyes, and they were full of a strange and dawning self loathing.
"A King should never run."
"You didn't stay..."
"I feel hatred for this body," she said, voice cracking, "It is weak and riddled with tears and twists my gut like knives... it feels fear such that I did not know possible. It is my betrayer. It takes it revenge for its own destruction. When it became clear what would happen, my—its legs simply turned. I ran. It made me run..."
"It couldn't be me. It was the body. It was not me. I am above fear."
"Run and catch..." whispered Drusilla, looking down the ground, drawing patterns in the puddles with her hands.
"By the time I stopped them and returned, it was over. I made those who remained pay for the deaths. But it was too late."
"Too late..." Drusilla said softly, "And now no one loves me at all..."
"Love," she responded, "Love is destruction. I have seen it with my eyes. It makes one want what is past, makes the young become old with care and pain. It makes lies sufficient. I shall not love. And I shall never run again."
"We're all running," Drusilla said, "Running away like raindrops on the gutters... and the heart takes no orders."
And the rain fell on them, and the darkness remained past the dawning, with a grey, overcast sky.
---
Drusilla stepped into the alley. Piles of dark, mangled shapes ran blood into the rain beneath her feet.
"Dead..." she whispered, looking up into the water, pouring down over her face in heavy sheets. It tugged her hair down into long, drowned tangles, and outlined her breasts against her pale dress.
She stepped delicately over the tail of a hulking mass of scales, seeping black blood out into the piles of red, torn flesh and scattered weapons. Among them she smelled one human— the air about him was young and powerful and noble. His flesh lay mangled on the pavement, under the scales and tendrils, cooling in the rain.
"Dead..." she whispered again, sighing the word out like a moan of pain. She could feel that pain and a mingled horror rising from the ground like steam in the summer heat. Half completed thoughts everywhere, whispers of what was, swift in tempo with the falling rain. She could hear her princes in that maelstrom, their words uncompleted and their long years cut short. And she knew there was dust among the bodies, and that no one would love her again.
"Dead..." she whispered, for the world was dead to her. The ground beneath her feet was ash.
And suddenly, she tilted her head to the side. In among the mourning whispers, one still lived.
The sound was quiet compared to the cries of the dead, clinging in her skull. But it was a Real Sound. A sigh, a twisting gasp deep in the throat. An intake of breath, clogged by mucus and raw muscles.
And that's when she saw the shape. It was sitting on the ground, palms on the pavement, hair falling about the head in wild blue strands.
A blue lady, blood flowing down her shoulder where her dark clothing was torn away from the flesh.
"You're not dead," Drusilla said, quietly, as she stepped in front of the woman.
The lady didn't look up. Her shoulders shook with the tears.
Drusilla crouched on the ground, and the blood from the ground soaked into her dress and onto her knees.
"You..." the blue lady spat out, the voice low and flat and strangled.
The lady's skin was tinted all over with the blue, save for the angry red gashes across her arm and collar bone. Her leathery clothes hung around the wounds, and she could see her breath rising and falling, working against broken bones with strangled effort.
"You knew them..."
Drusilla smiled, nodded eagerly.
"They fought for me and were the bravest of all the monsters that walked the earth."
The creature laughed a pained little laugh, and coughed. Blood speckled her lips as she did this, and Drusilla stared with dark, blank eyes, taking in what she saw. She reached out, and touched those lips, impulsively. They were cool and firm, and she could feel power in them. Power unto the beginnings of the earth. She gasped, and pulled her hand back, stained red across the tips.
"You have the sight," the woman said, "I can feel it in your touch. One as you would be revered in my time, and given a high place beside monarchs."
Drusilla smiled again, as if this was something she already knew.
"I'm a princess," she said calmly.
The woman leaned back, looking Drusilla in the face with tearstained eyes. They darted across Drusilla's form, looking at her carefully.
"You are their kin. I can sense it the blood beneath your skin. The blood... it was everywhere. It cries for vengeance."
"I can hear it crying," Drusilla agreed, "It called to me in my sleep, and I knew my princes needed me. But I came too late..."
"It would have done nothing but ensure your death. There were too many to fight."
"But I came to late to save them," Drusilla pleaded, looking out into the mass of bodies.
"No," the woman said, "You came too early. You see my shame."
"You are not dead."
The blue lady's eyes brimmed with the tears, that spilled over and ran down her cheeks, as if a great mortal wound were festering in her soul and flowing out over from her into the world.
"Would that I had fallen with the half breeds," she said, "For they are braver than I. There were so many, at the end. The battle grew impossible. And still they held, long after the human had fallen. They did not turn away."
She looked up into Drusilla's eyes, and they were full of a strange and dawning self loathing.
"A King should never run."
"You didn't stay..."
"I feel hatred for this body," she said, voice cracking, "It is weak and riddled with tears and twists my gut like knives... it feels fear such that I did not know possible. It is my betrayer. It takes it revenge for its own destruction. When it became clear what would happen, my—its legs simply turned. I ran. It made me run..."
"It couldn't be me. It was the body. It was not me. I am above fear."
"Run and catch..." whispered Drusilla, looking down the ground, drawing patterns in the puddles with her hands.
"By the time I stopped them and returned, it was over. I made those who remained pay for the deaths. But it was too late."
"Too late..." Drusilla said softly, "And now no one loves me at all..."
"Love," she responded, "Love is destruction. I have seen it with my eyes. It makes one want what is past, makes the young become old with care and pain. It makes lies sufficient. I shall not love. And I shall never run again."
"We're all running," Drusilla said, "Running away like raindrops on the gutters... and the heart takes no orders."
And the rain fell on them, and the darkness remained past the dawning, with a grey, overcast sky.
---