Birthday Present for Vodka @kohkytus ♡~
" I wonder, how long will it take for you to stir? "
Nothing but howling, how disappointing.
" Or you do not care to have everything you accomplished fall to ruin~? "
This pernicious show of one's ravenous hunger had, by the time echoing approach would lead him around, stretched as wide as the eye could only see in this dissonance of destruction and rebuilt; appearing so truly, so undeniably ineffective to even assert with power and might whose time will never come again. Should never come again. So, why even was he here right now? Searching in the depths for a 'forlorn' myth? This intricate yin and yang of brittle man-made stone and the last recluse of inhumanity’s own showing nought else but a madman's pursuit of mental egality. Still: drowned - devoured - destroyed; when not attaining the means of worship a broken soul does call for like his own.
Searching inside a fairy tale told to the youths of his kin. Shall they not marvel at these wordless wonders, impossible to truly quite explain?
Structures, bold and towering, turned into impenetrable walls in aching quarrels, winding themselves along the cities inner bowels like a snake to find a prey to snap at. To swallow it whole. It's a fitting explanation for what the mask maker's eyes could see and for what whispers of a language long gone do meddle that would, finally indeed, reach his ears.
" Many had come after you. Taken up your reign with different goals in mind. "
Not a single stir, how frustrating.
" Desired to be more and yet they were sure nothing at all. "
Murmurs and breaths and the quietening down of the surrounding’s chilling fatality. Harm, nevertheless, has not come down upon them due to the incessant, unremitting words, syllable for syllable melting together, amounting to nothing quite at all. Merely had they scattered and hid once more. As the desire of his own to truly mingle - to truly engage - had been near to nought. Still, had they not tried desparingly desiring to make Uta's approach stop and turn, uttered claims of danger? Of peril? Of catastrophe? Shall he not return?
This city had devoured so many with hair and bone. With tooth and nail. With heart and soul. Laughable; thoughts in the jokester's mind to ring out a chiming one of his own delight, drawling throughout the darkened surrounding, similar to a neverending night. Wondersome to be caught in such a reckless abandon.
Perhaps in the very core of this place that never someone had been able to reach, repelled by force like from the fairy tales, thorns alike that had grown over stems and branches, like from a rosebushes' very curse [ a simple thought that had settled into lunatic’s mind ], there was something. Someone. Just worthwhile to claim.
" That world above, would you like me to tell you how it looks? "
Tingling air around them, how promising.
" Ah~ I know yet, you would not believe me. "
Where hours would flow into one another, time does not matter anymore at all. The caustic desire to reach for a goal so closed off and so hidden away from the avariciousness of greed and a forlorn eternity. Had not his own friends laughed about the auctioneer's conation? The ceaseless dream to set out and pursue? Mocked and ridiculed in fashions of admirable attention; off still he went towards the depths of a stomach that had swallowed a civilization whole [ or so, the legends had told--- ].
It feels like a heart that beats. It feels like the air was suddenly scarce to breathe and a pulse thrums and thrives around him. Unapologetic taking from the wanderer what nought else the reminders of inhabitants were so unwilling to give.
How exhilarating. Choking out a laugh in sing-song voice was all he was willing to commit. Now then, a door creaks open [ in mind? in reality? ] towards widened, destroyed, endless void of this peaceful world. Finally [ how many days had truly passed? ] coming to face with something of a legend and yet? - how to awaken that beast at last?
" Or maybe, you do. But want to breathe in the air above. Want to reclaim what all was taken from you. "
Roaring in his ears like a drum, how exhilarating.
" Do I still need to help you to rise? "
Comfortable was his position amongst the uproar of conflict and bloodshed. High above does he sit, the very leverage of the fallen monarch to be offered by the means and movements made so many years ago. So much time has passed that every bit of it could dissipate with the snap of fingers and fall to all but shimmering dust. He does sit and watch and wonder. Had spoken endlessly, eyes watched attentively, nothing at all that stirred. One may believe him to lose well-trained patience piece by piece. One tick of the time. Failing reactions coming to a maniacal mind. What does keep him from standing and brushing off centuries-old remains? From taking his leave towards a goal better gained? Find a mind better off swayed by ideals and the stories Uta had to tell.
Unmoving still he does sit and watch and wonder. Legs crossed over one another towards the hidden power scarcely glancing up, yet outright listening to him - as he had felt it in the surrounding's air to shift and grow heavier - harsher - harder. A means to rise and nearly choke whoever would dare to come too close.
Waits with his hands placed upon his knee, long fingers, telling stories of his own, intertwined with one another - may be that just with that? Mayhaps, he could rise the King from his hardened throne.
" Does it disturb you not, that so many feel you all but a legend? "
Rumbling of the buildings abound, how devastating.
" That parents tell these to their children, worth alone to make them behave? "
With the very life to flash upon pale planes of skin. Further and further exposed with tilts and turns of his lithe form. Each shift of muscle beneath fine linen would drag the eyes upon stories uncountable to tell. Who would have thought? That the very man to climb into the monster's den - was a monster unlike any other and like the fable's legend very own? Oh, he would not wonder if that very someone spoken to in softened coos, would want to never dine, to surely deny, the essence of his very being.
With sudden blinks. With startling gaze. Opening eyes and eyes and eyes to appear before the entertainer's very own. Such would the tales and stories go: the devourer of his own kind, ready to swallow him whole.
No, that by all means and possibilities, just this once: Uta was so surely saved. To garner the one that could turn inside out this discardable earth; to offer them back laughter, as so tired they were of this dreadful future to behold. Let him see. Let him seek. Read each and every page so carefully and beautifully crafted upon white and unscathed skin. A mocking little invitation, spoken by the Cheshire's grin.
" Now come, your Majesty. "
With life flooding all senses, how thrilling.
" The Kings are dead - so long live the King. "
