// -- @shadehymn : servant to a god; brought to flesh and bone.
If only I had the strength. . .
How long had it been; nearly half a year? Embarrassing. To think that someone as powerful as she could be brought down by a few measly apparitions; haunting’s of a past she’d sooner forget than confront and accept. What was there to think on? Nothing. It didn’t matter that they felt, desired, lived and bled as any other living entity, they had to die -- even if their existence was her fault. Now more destruction lay in her wake and before her feet lay Micheal born anew, and in her distress she brought forth a companion that would never age nor die; a channel for her slipping sanity, a means of focusing her power to better heal for the coming end. One only she, herself, knew about.
You will never betray me. You are incapable. You will always strive to serve me. You are enslaved. You are everything that I desire. You belong only to me.
You are my D I S C I P L E. And from the darkness did you emerge; skin as white as snow, hair as silver as the stars, eyes as violet as lavender; and yet they held a fierceness. A sort of wild nature reflected back to the Intoner in a way that shook her to her core, that brought about an anger she could not describe. But perhaps the greatest insult to her ego was that from the ether was not a man... but a w o m a n. Surely this was a joke? Another hiccup in the flower’s power, in it’s attempts to dissuade her from self destruction? Disgusting. But there was little to be done, not with her existing now, and thus she took up arms with this new companion forged of her sheer will and wrath. Together they would strike down her fellow sisters and put an end to the reign of Intoner, with the guise of her wanting to rule. Nothing could go wrong.
Within the depths of the swampy forest sat the Intoner in question, her expression is complete indifference whilst she gazes into the water; within the soft ripples she examines her dirty face smudged with mud and blood, and carefully her roseate eye travels down her own shoulder and for her former arm now what she affectionately refers to as ‘stump’. All manner of chores had turned three-fold in difficulty, what was once menial tasks that were mere annoyances turned to complete struggles; putting on her clothes, especially her stockings, snapping on her heels, tying her bow, brushing her hair, even bathing initially had been off the table. Now? She sat alone before the bank, quietly listening to her surroundings, whilst in the distance she was certain the voice of her Disciple was rambling and bemoaning -- no doubt hungry.
“ What would you do? ” She asks aloud to no one in particular, examining the little markings along the flesh of her stump, fingering with her good hand the sensitive area that jumped on contact alone. “ Could’ve killed them faster. Shouldn’t of hesitated. ” Micheal might still be alive if she’d thought faster, fought harder, knew when to flee -- her arrogance cost her greatly. Pulling her knees closer to her chest Zero continues drifting in and out of thought, having shut out the calling of Kaine in the distance, as if she’d checked-out somewhere else.
“ .. I should’ve fucking ran... ”
