This one would work.
He told himself that again, as he etched the designs into the bone with the fine burning pen that he'd cobbled together. The circles within circles, the lines and marks...the geometry of it all was entrancing, wrote itself into the backs of his eyelids and he saw them everywhere…
This one would work.
He'd been careful. So very careful. He'd taken the bone, and he'd cleaned it, and shaped it. The metal had been harder, but there were a lot of things he could do with a blowtorch and a hammer, even when he had to be gentle, because the bone was fragile. This? This was the last part. This was the part where he drew the designs into it, and captured the essence of the light and the ending in order to...do...something.
He didn't know what it was supposed to do, but it would do it. It would.
This one would work.
He could feel it. It was close...the last few little symbols took shape, and he bit down his laughter as the familiar aura formed. Quickly, more quickly this time, because this one was going to work. It was. It would…
He set his tools aside, and pulled the Rune from its clamps, carefully, carefully. Lifted it, hefted it, felt its weight, carefully...he brushed his thumb across it, felt that slight curve, felt the etching that he had done, still warm in places, still smelling of burning bone…
"This one will work."
He held it, and focused on it. Closed his eyes to try and feel it. For a moment, it seemed that the incessant whispering had faded, the Rune had been ACCEPTED.
But it wasn't. It was still in his hands. And the whispering voices still spoke in his ears, telling him to CREATE and to INNOVATE and GROW and a hundred other maddening things, but he didn't listen because he was NOT. CRAZY. And only crazy people listened to voices in their heads.
It hadn't worked.
Another failure...the anger bubbled up in a flash, and he threw the Rune. It shattered against the wall where he'd painted the whispers (so that he could see them and HATE them more clearly), the pieces flying everywhere.
Everywhere.
It hadn't worked.
But it would have made good bait. It would have served that much purpose…
There were others. He had more. A few Runes, and enough useless Charms...well. Enough that he wished that he'd just broken one of those, instead. Maybe later. Some other time.
For now...well, now he'd have to use some of the other things. He'd be able to come back for them, if they didn't get broken. He'd be able to...retrieve them. Once it was done. Once he had taken care of the problem. Once he had handled the thief. The one who had desecrated the Shrines, the offerings. The things that were meant to work. The whispers said to build and the dreams said to build this, but someone had been stealing.
Theft. Thief. He would deal with the thief. Oh yes.
He had the bait. He hid the bait, beneath the floor, beneath the Shrine, and there he laid his trap. He laid his trap, and hid it beneath another failure, a face that wasn't what it was meant to be. It would draw the thief in, and then they would be dealt with, and he could continue his work.
Yes. He'd move elsewhere, for now. Move his tools, and his notes, and his things, and he would work somewhere else.
As he slipped out of the broken-down house that he'd made his workshop on the first of several trips to his newplace, he made a note to himself to acquire more materials.
He had been running painfully low.
And maybe, if everything was just right...maybe the next time, it would work.