stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
So he found himself in the interior of the Temple, but it was not dim and dark as he had expected: it was lit with candles and lanterns, bright and cozy and homely, as if prepared for something. Remi, carrying lanterns, moved towards him. Bright spots, swimming, dizzying, as Rory—a wild-eyed animal—tried to catch up with a reality so disconnected from his.
And suddenly Remi was there, in front of him, smiling, bashful, apologetic, sweet. Rory swallowed and closed his eyes. Wessex's death had made him forget he was supposed to be here, anyway; Remi had told him to come by. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had been told. Rory let out a long, slow sigh and opened his eyes, drifting behind the Alchemist and to the front of the room. Rory ill liked this sort of attention.
"Wessex is dead," he said to Remi, voice dull, eyes complicated. One of his fingers traced the hot outline of a lantern, relishing in the bite from the warm metal.
He didn't exactly get further though. People were spilling in through the temple doors, seeking their places in the crowd, and Ronin called from somewhere further away before striding into the room like he belonged there, at the front. He easily took control of the meeting, stating its purpose, his optimism, and Rory—trapped at the front—wanted to melt through the floor.
Ronin could believe what he wanted, and when the monster tore him up, he could stop believing. Dispirited and still affected by what he had learned, Rory simply said, "Wessex is dead," as his eyes scanned the crowd. A few Naturals has slipped in as well. Maybe some of them had known her. "The Spire's guardian got to her." Why or how, he didn't know. Wessex ought to have been smarter than that.
Unless she was fired up with the beliefs of these Outlanders, that they could take the demon on; or maybe she had something to prove, that they could do it without them.
Regardless, Rory didn't say anything else, just fell silent, eyes downcast. He had expected a quiet meeting between the three of them. He hadn't been prepared to deal with all of this.
And suddenly Remi was there, in front of him, smiling, bashful, apologetic, sweet. Rory swallowed and closed his eyes. Wessex's death had made him forget he was supposed to be here, anyway; Remi had told him to come by. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had been told. Rory let out a long, slow sigh and opened his eyes, drifting behind the Alchemist and to the front of the room. Rory ill liked this sort of attention.
"Wessex is dead," he said to Remi, voice dull, eyes complicated. One of his fingers traced the hot outline of a lantern, relishing in the bite from the warm metal.
He didn't exactly get further though. People were spilling in through the temple doors, seeking their places in the crowd, and Ronin called from somewhere further away before striding into the room like he belonged there, at the front. He easily took control of the meeting, stating its purpose, his optimism, and Rory—trapped at the front—wanted to melt through the floor.
Ronin could believe what he wanted, and when the monster tore him up, he could stop believing. Dispirited and still affected by what he had learned, Rory simply said, "Wessex is dead," as his eyes scanned the crowd. A few Naturals has slipped in as well. Maybe some of them had known her. "The Spire's guardian got to her." Why or how, he didn't know. Wessex ought to have been smarter than that.
Unless she was fired up with the beliefs of these Outlanders, that they could take the demon on; or maybe she had something to prove, that they could do it without them.
Regardless, Rory didn't say anything else, just fell silent, eyes downcast. He had expected a quiet meeting between the three of them. He hadn't been prepared to deal with all of this.
