the
V I C T O R I O U S
:i:
I.
Serenity, for a slight of mind?
—he almost smiles.
Her body is splayed, violated by the trivialities of war—sweat, blood, grime, the like—but then in turn by those of victory—necrophilia, necrophobia, and their gratuitous mixing.
And what could it be to him?—there could have been no peace for her in victory but in this—
—in this—
—in this?
What had he expected, for slight of mind over slight of hand?—peace is not serenity, for victor or invalid.
He smiles, now. Her only artifact is withdrawn from her hand, and with stilling fingers that, too, breaks.
II.
It had been a clean affair, a wand and a wave, just like magic: and there was death, kneeling and keeling until the floor had registered his fall with the sound of mute thunder.
Death is too simple an affair for the complex, and she can scarce abide it: affairs of state were anarchy, affairs of nature were entropy, and here, this?—
—death is not sin, but silence is, this silence is—
—a slump of shadows and the abyssal plain between here and her. She crosses the silence, and the deaf cross themselves.
Snap is the sound of the song.
:i:
For the hp100 prompt of 'wands' and drabbles100 prompts of 'death' and 'deaf' respectively. 100 words each.
