@mordreddeschain | starter call. | closed.
A soft drop of blood falls. A soft cut. A soft suspension of soft darkness. It has fallen from above. It has fallen from below.
It has fallen from a world that cannot stop turning. It falls in a circle. There is little to be done about it. Walter watches it hover, from the spot he is sitting in, from the spot somewhere else someone else (still him) is sitting in, they both are. He smiles at the child. The child that isn’t a child at all. The child that is Armageddon walking.
In his fabric, beneath him, he hears himself scream. Walter blinks. Walter blinks. Oh, sometimes it is as delicious as the apocalypse: to be the only one to know.
(as you resume your quest, worlds rotate above your head).
No stars in Fedic, he tore those stars away as he had it built. He made sure of it. No mad dance to watch: just concrete, dusty, burning, dark concrete. Decrepit, deceitful, deceiving, d, d, d--
“Delightful.”
He grins a dirty grin.
“Shall we begin, little savior god?”