For 'anon', who expressed a desire for unstable Lysandra
The ultimate weapon is beautiful, really, in its own morbid way. A crystalline instrument of mass destruction, a flower blooming with oh so much potential. So much potential, in those cold, hard petals—the seductive call of the power to change the world. Much like the potential those young protégés of Augustine's had…but, alas, they, too, must succumb to the ravages of fate. She had given them, these chosen ones, ample opportunity to stop her. But in the end, it had not been enough. It is she, in the end, who has triumphed. Her, whose convictions burn hotter than their pathetic little flames ever could.
She smiles, and everything comes tumbling down, all the selfishness, all the greed, all the useless violence. All the rest of those filthy, pathetic humans. Gone now. No more. They have no place in this new world that she's built.
"Look at it," she cries, laughing hysterically as she makes a grand, sweeping gesture with one arm.
Augustine merely stares at her mutely, mouth gaping and face covered in ash.
"Look at it!" she demands, grabbing his shoulders with both of her gloved hands and forcefully spinning him around. Slowly, of course, so as to savour the wonderful, wonderful sight before them. "Isn't it beautiful?"
Augustine, still, makes no sound, perhaps struck dumb by her actions. He lets himself get dragged around by her, making no attempts to resist, limp as a ragdoll in her unrelenting grip.
"Look at me," she says, and he violently shakes his head. "Look at me," she says, voice rising, spinning him around to face her. Still, he refuses to lift his head, hands curled into trembling fists at his sides. "Look. At. Me!" she practically screams, grabbing his chin and forcing it upwards, forcing him to reveal every emotion flickering across that broken, beautiful face. Tears glint like glass shards on his cheeks, carving jagged trails through the greyness of the ashes on his skin. It's grey all around them, now, the grey of the smoke and the grey of the sky and the beautiful, beautiful blue-grey of his eyes, overflowing with tears and drenched in grief and betrayal, staring at her like she's ripped the soul right out of them.
"Beautiful," she whispers, cupping his cheeks in almost a parody of tenderness. "Beautiful," she whispers, digging her nails into his soft, supple skin, making marks through the layers of ash and dust and tears blurred together on his face. "Beautiful," she whispers, even as he lets out a choked, gasping sob, dragging his face forward and pressing her lips to his own.
She kisses him, and the world falls down around their feet.