Picturesque
The farm house was beautiful. He could see it out of the battle shell windows. It was quaint and neat, surrounded by a blanket of trees and fields. The roads themselves were hidden by bush and foliage, muffling the sound of the rare passing of cars, and hiding them from view. It was a place of safety and peace. It was a place of family and relaxation. It was a home which welcomed them with open arms, and with a warmth and acceptance felt nowhere else.
Raph should have been happy. But instead, his heart weighed heavily in his plastron. Instead of peace, there was a bitter anger in his chest, which slowly gave way to fear. It seeped from his skin, finding its way into the cracks and filling the van with a suffocating silence.
Instead of relaxation, his muscles were full of tension and dread, tightening with each bump that brought them closer.
Raphael kept his eyes glued to the window, but in his lap, he cradled the broken form of his brother, who slumped lifeless in his arms. Raph held him like a child, like bone china about to shatter into a million pieces.
Maybe he was already shattered. Shattered beyond repair. Raphael was about to find out.
The venue might have been picturesque, but the circumstances weren't.
AN: Sorry for the delay. I've been finding it very hard to keep up recently. Still, onwards and upwards.