- —he doesn’t believe.
isn’t sure because he no longer knows how,
or if he’s just so convinced that this - i l l u s i o n
is another torment - fresh and twisted and something
of a more macabre bent than before.
and regardless of the belief, it’s been so very very long - here…
…time stretching out, almost endlessly.
seconds, minutes, hours…
from a place before time, only to experience it in the creation of the universe, measured by spinning globes and swirling dust and transition between light and dark, life and death.
to here - where a moment became almost infinite.
so the longevity of solitude, only to be broken by this vision…?
it did — hurt…
a pain that wrenched deep - something he tried to smother,
pulled against the barbs and chains to ground himself in the real,
the physical.
to try to distract —
and he would say - please… stop…
but he’d begged for long enough.
would tear out his eyes perhaps.
he doesn’t know how though -
there was no ‘end’ to things here.
to blind himself would only cause reparation.
a second sight, no doubt more acute than before.
so to ‘endure’ - this - for the sake of enduring worse.
"A b-book which we were never allowed to r-read… One with pages torn and m-missing. One which perpetuates under lock and key and bedded on the shifting s-sands of changing b-boundaries…"
his voice had fallen once more, only exhaustion…
"Then I hope you are only - pleased - with your creation.
That you take comfort in this — danse macabre…
That you enjoy your front row seats.
Watching…
Voyeur of the damned,
spectator of agony.
Bask in your - reflected pain -
and pity you - the one who commands, the one who demands, the one who speaks of pain even as other’s endure it b-by your will…”
"I think you not a f-fool… I do think you a liar.
I do think you cruel.
Unjust.
I do n-not… I don’t… I…
I do not - think of you - as m-my F-father…”
the sound that ricochets and rattles free is something of a half-choked sob and a manic laugh - skirting the line between grief and insanity.
"I don’t even know if I remember — the light…
…it’s so very, very dark here…
I wonder if it’s light where He is…”
a musing toward the puppet, the shadow play of his hallucination —
"I wonder if He truly remembers me. Or if I’m forgotten here…
Perhaps they have all forgotten…
It would be nice… To be remembered. For what I was… Before.
I haven’t forgotten Him. Any of them…”
The given counter to words spoken by Him, the Lord— the one
who knows all, supposedly ( in this instance, He doubts Himself ),
causes for a tautening of facial features and general rigidity to His
vessel's body. Hope for a mutual understanding betwixt the two
of them, Father and son, appears to dissolve into thin air faster
with each passing unit of time.
❝ One afflicted by justice would consider it CRUELTY. I will
not further argue who is in the right, here; Metatron has written
the words I spoke—— the aforementioned b o o k, for you and
all others to read. ❞
A sharp jolt of pain shoots through His system, invisible to the
naked eye. It is nothing to translate into the physical; all takes
place within the confines of His mind.
I think you a liar; I do think you cruel. But w o r s t of all?
I do not think of you as my father.
All turns into a swirling mass of colourlessness then. Not
necessarily in the palpable manifestation of this world, but
more so in the way in which He perceives the vast expanse
of HELL around Him. —— He will not be hurt. He will not
let the pitiable ricocheting of His son's ( or is he no longer? )
cut clean through muscle and sinew to pierce the walls of
His heart?
Does He have a heart? Perhaps no longer; not for Hêlêl.
The many attempts made at laying bare the agony that
still taunts Him until this day for him to see have remained
fruitless, and they will forever, He knows now. Whatever
trace of emotion may have maimed His features up until
now sets into a flawless sense of s t e e l; it's as if He no
longer c a r e s to pacify His child. NOTHING works.
Consider it a flaw of His, the archangel's or both, but He
GIVES UP— even if only for now.
Hêlêl will be the sole figure He gives up on.
❝ He hasn't forgotten you. No one has. L o v e is still the primary
thing to be felt at the mere mention of your name, Hêlêl. I, your
Father, whether you still see me as such or not, choose to relent.
There is no pacifying a restless dragon such as you. ❞ A final
lowering of his eyes follows. Frame begins to distor; He means to
vanish—— and He will, with a flutter of invisible wings after uttering
His final words.
❝ I wish you all the best. ❞