It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
Distractions amidst their gathered crowd within the Temple drew him away from the guarded room briefly. A muttering of words, of segments, of syllables and phrases with excited acclaim, sudden alarm, or surprise curbed his self-loathing for a moment, and his gaze flickered from window to window, from beyond blacked out contortions, where the light, where the fire, managed to shine through. Recognition of previous years coiled along his skull, and only the slightest sentiment of relief splintered its way along sternum, chest, ribs, and heart.
The Spark Bird had come.
They’d managed to do something successfully.
But he knew it meant other ruminations beyond sanctity, a respite from the monsters. For now though, he’d take what little they’d been allotted, and motioned towards the damned door, no need for it any longer. It’d done enough damage and protected all at once, and to gaze upon it was a neutral designation, uncertain about how far his fury or his numbness would stretch. Regardless, everyone, Ascended and all of them alike, deserved the liberation, the deliverance, of the outside world once more.
His hands went to its hinges, the earthen magic distorting the metal features, unraveling them with ease, and he pulled away the wooden structure, setting it outside, in a cart he’d left from previous preparations. He’d deal with it later – uncertain whether to destroy, whether to bring it to Safrin and conjure some sort of explanation.
His gaze went to the Spark Bird in the distance again, the marvel of flames, cinders, and embers, and half-wished they wouldn’t need it ever again.
Instead of advancing any further, he created once more – a replacement, another aperture, without the essence of damnation embedded into its wooden enamel. The door was detailed simplistically, he had no heart for design at the moment, before setting it in where the old had once been, hinges returned.
The Spark Bird had come.
They’d managed to do something successfully.
But he knew it meant other ruminations beyond sanctity, a respite from the monsters. For now though, he’d take what little they’d been allotted, and motioned towards the damned door, no need for it any longer. It’d done enough damage and protected all at once, and to gaze upon it was a neutral designation, uncertain about how far his fury or his numbness would stretch. Regardless, everyone, Ascended and all of them alike, deserved the liberation, the deliverance, of the outside world once more.
His hands went to its hinges, the earthen magic distorting the metal features, unraveling them with ease, and he pulled away the wooden structure, setting it outside, in a cart he’d left from previous preparations. He’d deal with it later – uncertain whether to destroy, whether to bring it to Safrin and conjure some sort of explanation.
His gaze went to the Spark Bird in the distance again, the marvel of flames, cinders, and embers, and half-wished they wouldn’t need it ever again.
Instead of advancing any further, he created once more – a replacement, another aperture, without the essence of damnation embedded into its wooden enamel. The door was detailed simplistically, he had no heart for design at the moment, before setting it in where the old had once been, hinges returned.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
