FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 69: True to the Earth

A Hotel Room

...

Xander blinked, then again, and again. It was a strange feeling, as if some veil had been lifted, and for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he'd opened his eyes and seen the world as it was. As if he'd spent the last eternity having his mind melted by a blue screen, just to have it suddenly shut off, and to have himself shunted back into reality; a reality so far removed from whatever dream he'd had that he wondered which was real.

The cold moonlight drifted lazily into the dark room, painting his new reality in an indigo haze, and bringing the truth to light.

He was kneeling on a bed he didn't recognize, and there, beneath him, was a woman: a woman with fair, milk-coffee skin and hair like smooth cream. She was once beautiful, but that beauty had been tarnished. The face that was fair, the skin which was unblemished, and the breasts which were as round, bountiful and motherly as the Earth itself had all been assaulted by something unspeakable. Her face was paler than the light that dared enter the desecrated space, her empty eyes reflecting nothing but the darkness around her, and her cheeks standing locked in an expression so anguished that he could all-but hear the screams. Her body, full, feminine, and fertile as the soil had been sown by some devilish rake, with blood being the only harvest; the welts of black bruises the only fruit of the season.

Her nakedness left the beauty and beastly sight bare, sanctity and desecration, holiness and evil, virtue and sin all contained within a single portrait- a picture so horrible that no mere man could stand the sight of it.

-But Xander could. He stared at the woman, examined her flesh, pondered on the deeper meaning of the brushstrokes made with red. He was enamored with it, obsessed with it, and couldn't dare look away. Deep inside him, yes, he could feel something writhing, wailing, and slamming against the walls of his soul. These, he recognized, were the emotions he ought to feel, the proper response of a man.

-But Xander could no longer see them as a part of himself. These emotions were nothing more than the clinging memories of a dream which would fade not long after waking up. Whatever this woman was to "him", to Xander, she was nobody. Just a woman, perhaps less than that.

-Yes, that's right. This was no woman. This was a corpse. A bag of flesh and bones in the crude shape of the Madonna.

As he turned his attention away from those memories of emotion, he became aware that he was caressing her- no, that isn't right. He became aware that he was caressing "its" face. And there, he saw, was a new stroke of a brush. In the blue light, the blood which covered his fingers looked almost-violet, and the situation became clear.

The result was emptiness. Stillness brought about not by serenity, but by the clashing of two equal and opposing forces, an apparent stillness which belies the subtle quakes of the titans beneath it.

Stillness...

Quiet...

Something inside him caressed his mind, as if to assure him, 'Stillness is the sign of a mind awake. Peace is the result of wisdom.'

He snapped awake again. The wall that pressed against his bare bottom was all that kept him upright. He reached for his face, as if making sure his body was still his- that his face was familiar, and it was- until he removed his hand, and the sickly stains of blood stuck there like the worst kind of grime. But, if nothing else, his mind was still again, he was at peace once more, and could now consider his options.

He was a murderer. Although certainly insane, and without any memories to confirm or deny his guilt, his still and quiet mind assured him there was no point to the law, or to justice. These things were arbitrary, and concerning himself with the opinions of other men would only lock him down. His concerns were and should only be for himself: he was innocent, and so had every right to act as such.