Chaos is God in a system of true disorder. And I seek to my title of God, I have no care for whoever crumples to nothing in my persuit to achieve such.
He prowled her borders to saintliness, her horizon of professed needs to naked untruths-all for a posted core that came with the fee of her virgin heart. By the rise of her second sun, he contained her impure nature in his precarious palms, trickling blood of flames swatting in pulse with her sagging cage as it hummed mutiny on the sagas of her cataclysmic crown. -APalace of Ulric labyrinths, Elvira Crest.
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"LOOK AT ME," the man's whisper fizzed through the cold. The young woman stood before him and did as she was told, watching as if the clash of their eyes was the fuel to her living, as if without it, oxygen would fail to rejoice in her lungs. "At me."
She was so still, expression lost and frozen like a victim of ice. "Please," her words were so silent, so torrent with sorrow's pity. Outside of their collision, one would've assumed that her appeal was for the insensible man before her, tears billowing through the farm dirt in which eras laid to rest. But she wasn't begging him, oh no, she was praying to them; everywhere and nowhere forever, watching from wherever prolonged magnificence lounged, shelving as the man tore away the last of her being, the blueprint of their mistakes.
"Please, please don't." She could feel it. She could feel him. Grace. Nipping at the significant nerves of her brain, gnawing away her person. "I want to live." But he did not care. " I want to...I want to feel." As her eyes bled transparent, some treacherous chunk of her supposed that if she were him, endowed with the potency to not mind, she would not have cared for herself too. "Please."
"I'm a man of clemency," his voice reverberated in her thinning ears. "My duty of seeing through your lies is generous likened to any form of inquisition at the hands of your people." He stood some steps away from her, an arm's length that put out the illusion that he was unduly far away while also being extremely close. "Do you know what is worse than a rife murderer who is paid to take lives?"
She could not answer. No answer she could ever give him would do her good.
"An apostate, traitors of their own land." Pins and burns, touring vehemently through the cords of her thoughts and memories. "There are reasons for taking a life, but never legible reasons for renouncing your own."
Her eyes turned to the ground below them, tracing the cracks of the earth as her fears dazed her conspicuous mislaying. Voices nipped at the tips of her ears, whining and yelling at her to betray her mindlessness with the burning of her anger. But at the instance red arose, a bite of his grace was all it took to stifle whatever reluctance her mind could muster.
