it was always the same, always. precise to the ultimate second. the only moment in which, ever since he had arrived within the city, he could once more hear the flow of time and how hollow it felt against his ear. almost to foreshadow the hopeless fight he and rose were about to put, a tragic act to be repeated.
the whole world was there, holding their breath as they were meant to assist to the demise of the great revolutionists. cameras ready to catch every droplet of blood even more than words of hope and resistance, for the people were more hungry for the shed than for the freedom the two of them and the organization they’ve built had been fighting for.
( their fight was vain, useless. )
yet here he was, carmines pondering at the beginning of that terror as it’d greet him with a sunset and a sight on the approaching battleship, just like an old friend. a sentiment unreciprocated, he’d like to point out, as many nights he’s spent begging not to see that very sight and preferring a dreamless slumber.
interferences, though, weren’t expected ━not when everything was just that deeply carved in the very components of time and space. rose would stand right next to him, unmoving. “ it’s not going to be a nice show. ” so the former knight would utter, resigned.
@leviiathan // ca dreamscape starter
