It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
No repose even in those stark columns of light, a call of his name faltering out of darkness, recognition not of monsters, but of his wife, and his heart tore apart again. When does this end? his mind wandered, somewhere in the back of his skull as instincts drove him onward. When does it cease? Because it never seemed to – always something blinding and binding them down, always something battering against their senses, always something draining every essence of their souls. His eyes took in the blood and he moved quicker, faster, long limbs carrying him across the effervescent-laden terrain – the panic, apprehension, and consternation settling into the fortifications of his wake.
Hadn’t it just been this past spring, when she’d been broken?
The agony clenched over him once more and he was tired, so damned tired, but the weight of it all peeled off his shoulders to attend to her. The beast hadn’t summoned Zuriel, but she knew, she knew, and his appreciation for the unicorn would sharpen, hone, later, when the world wasn’t so twisted, fragmented, and devastating. “I am here,” he whispered, hands going towards her, afraid to grab and hold, lift or carry, depending on the extent of her injuries. So they went to her palms instead, while Zuriel, quiet, stoic, and not shaking like him, bending her head down. Healing, ambient glows from her horn were cast, intending to soothe the aches, mend the gnarled pieces of her flesh. It wouldn’t be able to reach her soul – that would take far more than what the unicorn could provide.
Hadn’t it just been this past spring, when she’d been broken?
The agony clenched over him once more and he was tired, so damned tired, but the weight of it all peeled off his shoulders to attend to her. The beast hadn’t summoned Zuriel, but she knew, she knew, and his appreciation for the unicorn would sharpen, hone, later, when the world wasn’t so twisted, fragmented, and devastating. “I am here,” he whispered, hands going towards her, afraid to grab and hold, lift or carry, depending on the extent of her injuries. So they went to her palms instead, while Zuriel, quiet, stoic, and not shaking like him, bending her head down. Healing, ambient glows from her horn were cast, intending to soothe the aches, mend the gnarled pieces of her flesh. It wouldn’t be able to reach her soul – that would take far more than what the unicorn could provide.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
