Eleison Undivine Me [BEING EDITED]

Episode One: ICCHEI (edited)

Ë̸̮̭̫̜̹̀̆̏l̴̢̯̠̘̖͇̥͖̭̀̊̃̐̔̈̽͜e̶̢̱͈͉͔̙̣͔̓ǐ̸̡̙̪͖̬̐͋̄̎͠ś̶̲̌͗́͘͝ͅơ̵̢͓̫̰̖̬̖̝̋̆̽͑̐̑ň̵̗͋͌̈́̏͝

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ᵖᵉᵗᵃˡ ᵇʸ ᵖᵉᵗᵃˡ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗʳⁱᵖ ⁱᵗ ᵒᶠᶠ ⁱᵗˢ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗʸ, ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ, ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᵇʸ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ

(The sound of waves crashing and wind rustling. 

The music has stopped, the corpses have disappeared to grow as blue-rose-eyed skeletons outside in the meadows.

Before him, on the rose quartz floor, grow creepers that bloom the same roses, curling around and beneath the lady to make some sort of bedding. His hand reaches to touch the runes under her eye that seems to be burning into her skin, then he withdraws, taking off his cape instead to lay it over her body.

"Hmm." Outside, the moon has gone up higher. "Rude of you to watch us."

Footsteps approach him from behind. A boy wearing a white robe comes to stand in front of him, a zealous grin on his face. "I've come back, Your Grace."

"I can see that, Paean." He stands on his feet, ushering the boy to follow him toward the opening of the throneroom that watches out to the forest.

"Why did you kill them?"

The king's eyes never waver from the stars that peep from behind ghosts of clouds that float toward the seas. "I did not, my vizier did."

"Uh huh. But you gave her power she couldn't control within such short time. It leaked out of her."

"They were oppressors, fate must have had it for them before I decided anything." Cicadas and crickets have started their nightly songs, and the sound of grass rustling grows more intense by the second. "However, it's good that you are here."

Paen's dark hair has gotten longer, his monolid brown eyes look bigger. The king's gaze hovers over the gold pin strapped on Paen's cloak: a gold vine that loops once, then twice down the end. The kingdom's sigil.

"You will watch over vizier as I tend to the sea, won't you?"

Paean doesn't answer, but the warm curve of his lips tells him he will. Hence, the king takes one last look at the lady who has fallen into deep slumber, then takes on his way toward the olive gardens.

Heavy wind has started to mutilate the arms and legs of the olive trees. The ripe scent of fruits has been taken by the saltiness that comes with the sound of the waves.

A storm has been unchained. The black waters of the sea between the La-Been and the Ations rage as a maiden's anger. He steps foot into the start of the sea, feeling it crash against his feet. Between the creaking, the swaying, the whooshing and the splashing is a low growling barely audible.