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.
A cry equivalent to another's laugh. Both so contrasting, yet both so destroyed. Palace of Ulric labyrinths, Elvira Crest.
࿐SCARLET࿐ |Alec|
THERE'S SOME TRUTH to those who claimed juvenile trauma remained fused to some people past adulthood. The man relaxed before Scarlet was proof of this undying theory. Unlit eyes a haunting disposition of a million punishments; clasped hands degraded with the imperfections of others' suffering-ever-enlarging walls sealed every alveolus that exceeded the solid skeleton of the office door, enriching the translucent authority of Franklin Pyxis's intimidating presence. For the many who walked into this very office, Franklin looked like many of the loaded elitists his crooked institution handled, but not too far under this masquerade of revenue, Scarlet knew a particular nightmare hid.
Scarlet had lived under the same roof as Franklin not long after the day he had watched the facility of high-class ascend with magnificent terror. It didn't matter how many days Scarlet could spend abandoned with cannibalising insides, stranded in clinging blood that was not all his, or fending off the gourmandizing nights of winter recluse; this decaying ceiling of oak timber would always find its way over his head, pressuring him to soar tall with the fear that his bones would shed from his flesh as a feeling of fatigue gnawed at the back of his knees.
But there were days which Scarlet knew that any sense of panic driving his body was not from exhaustion, only the trafficker before him.
This was one of those days.
Franklin didn't turn back as the groans of his floorboards harmonised, although an insignificant shift of his head told Scarlet the man was aware of the other person depleting the warmth of the room with him. Scarlet observed the purple evening silhouette the details of Franklin's arrogant face, sublime muscles toned through his shirt with the gust of his inclemency. His navy robes reclining loosely off his limbs, every inch of heavy material shaded black from the three-dimensional portrait of a far-removed world. No matter how drowned Franklin should have looked in the moment, his posture remained as stringent as ever.
Scarlet wished to scatter into useless ash rather than have to hear the discordant words of the grievous man before him.
"I've always preferred you over Séraph, Scarlet, did you know that?" The rhetorical inquiry blossomed in the setting with irony. A rationale within Scarlet knew that Séraph would not tend to the judgments of a man like Franklin but, regardless, an unknown slice of him continued to feel enraged for her at the nasty testimony.
