The Spire looms, ever a testament to its treacherous past even in ruins. Delphia stared up at it, silver eyes narrowed. Anger is not an emotion she felt often, but in the moment she felt rage. How dare the Voice horde away these souls? Had she not tortured her Ascended enough, leading them to war over and over for fruitless gain in a battle she could never win? Not even once sacrificing herself and instead letting them drop like flies, then keeping them from peace and comfort? To war was one thing. To kill even was one, and to use and manipulate another bit of the shreds of humanity she had once had. But to continue to force the dead to suffer was monstrous.
Unforgivable even.
Her fists clenched at her sides, staring at it. How could she get to the top? It seemed so thoroughly destroyed that there was certainly no way she could manage it. Another hurdle to collecting that which had been stolen.
Unforgivable even.
Her fists clenched at her sides, staring at it. How could she get to the top? It seemed so thoroughly destroyed that there was certainly no way she could manage it. Another hurdle to collecting that which had been stolen.
DELPHIA
