deep breath, deep breath
Secret of Kells © Cartoon Saloon
(it is four in the morning I had less than two hours of sleep and what is this I don't even)
The chapel floor is black as death, looks burnt raw by blood. The light above stains the bodies grey but for their eyes; they're blanker than the rest of them, but the colors seem to be brighter than life.
Leonardo managed to get closest to the door. He sat only a few steps away, eyes half open and unseeing. His right hand is limp on the floor. The candle he once held is just in front of it, the shape of his fingers imprinted in the hardened wax. His head was angled toward Assoua, who was further back.
His arms and chest and face were so defiled, it's obvious that he didn't give up without a fight. He had been defending the refugees that had taken shelter there, and partially succeeded. Brother Square's form was collapsed right behind him, face urgent—he had been trying to help Assoua back up.
Friedrich and Sergei lay in the very middle of the isle. Sergei had fallen in that spot, it was clear; however, Friedrich…Blood trailed from an area near the altar, all the way to Sergei. By the smearing about a quarter of the distance, it seemed that his legs had failed, and he had painstakingly crawled the rest of the way. Their fingers were tangled in a last hope of comforting the other.
The living are too dead to return to the church before even their eyes are covered by the falling white. Their final stories are too hard to read for most; the ones who do feel the bite of hate that was never there and the fear that truly had been.