she could kill him ( damning all hope of prophecy and destiny --- she would rip all life from him ) for the body on the floor. for the body bloodied and broken, no longer any boy to the way violence has twisted his form. her anger is old --- as the kingdom that scorned the gods / as the man who was meant to bring salvation to a world turned to the shadows. she could kill him but one thing astral has learned is that a life for a life will not bring the first one back.
he was a scraped knee boy. running through the fields, child before the world became a reality heavy enough to crush him. she remembered the way he trembled when he held his sister in his arms the first time. remembered the silk of his hair as he rested night after night in her lap.
now messenger kneels beside him. lifts his head into her lap ( were he anyone else she would have recoiled from the sickness which seeped from his flesh --- from all the old corruption taking root in him ) and prays ( who do you pray to, goddess? there is no one to listen to your pleas in the skies beyond your own ) for a quick passage across the expanse after death. cold fingers brush against his forehead, through his hair.
“ shh. shh. i’ve you now, young prince. ” / @slainfury