⑄ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 ⑄

| a beautiful star. |

[ hiiii i'm still having that Deities of Ave brainrot so here, here's a oneshot of Syl :3

was initially gonna be a collection of writings but i gave up after doing Syl's lmao ]

-+-

[ "your God may excuse your actions, but do not expect the same sympathy from me." ]

...

"look! turn thine eyes upon this pillar of shame --"

red ran down pale skin. copper stung his lips and danced on the tip of his tongue; salt stung the corners of his eyes and thorns buried their dirty claws into his temples. cold, bruised knuckles pressed against the back of his neck, and oh, how he wanted to break the hand holding him in place.

"-- upon the angel who defied God, he who hath cast Him aside. look, for this is not God's creation -- this is a monster, a creature of the Devil --"

his throat burned, something gathering at the back of his tongue, restricting his breath. a sob rattled his chest, tore through his throat, left him gasping in pain.

silver chains tightened around his neck, forcing pale eyes to rest upon the hundreds, thousands gathered before the fallen angel.

the congregation's gaze burned through bloodied, pale skin.

"-- and just as he hath cast our Father aside, we cast him away, the son of Crisatus, for he hath dirtied his hands with the blood of a holy man."

"I - I --"

his breath cuts short as the man hovering above him jerks his restraints, gritting his teeth, his voice a growl; "silence, devil! keep thine forked tongue behind thine teeth, lest you curse the rest of our holy gathering."

a whimper falls from reddened lips, soft and strangled, dripping in guilt. 

a low sigh escapes the older man, and suddenly, the boy is thrown forward; the chains burn as they slip off his skin with a flourish, leaving red bruises along his wrists and throat.

he lets out a short gasp, being driven to his hands and knees. the rosy thorns in his temple drag across his skin, petals falling off in clumps into his hair -- blood red against ivory white.

crimson drips off his lips, pooling below him, mixing with hot tears.

"leave this holy ground, devil, lest we stone thou to death. thou art no longer welcome in God's domain."

the boy scrambles, pathetic, to his feet, desperate.

they're whispering.

the winter air is harsh against his bare, bloodied skin, even within the cathedral. his chest is frozen; he can barely breathe.

I am no longer welcome here.

the cathedral doors burst open willingly -- was even the cathedral disgusted by this fallen angel's presence within it?

I am no longer welcome anywhere.

falling snow pelts against bare skin, tears freezing on pale lashes. he runs, aimless, reckless, crimson staining the branches and trees he shoves aside.