The village was quiet.
The body carried on the wagon shifted as the wheels ran across the uneven ground. It would be nice to say that it rained as if the heavens were crying, but the night was dry. The boy beneath the sheet was pale and ashen, except for where he was not. He was red with blood, and his skin was covered with gashes. The people did not cry for him, but for the fear that it could have been one of them. He had no one to mourn him.
He had no one to miss him when he was gone. Nor to miss his body.
The doctor was a genius, but at the same time was not. He was a man of practicality, and yet a man of magic all the same. No one missed the boy, and the search for the creature that had attacked him would keep the people busy for a while. He did not move quickly.
His desire to succeed did not outweigh his desire for perfection. If this boy was going to work out, then he would work out smoothly rest assured. He took care in placing all of the gears just so; he made sure that the armour plating covered the intricate details without being cumbersome; he made sure that the tubes were perfectly placed, and that when the liquid flowed it would move the gears.
He opened the chest piece to add one last touch; a spell of replenishing to ensure that when any liquid was used up, it would be replaced.
He pondered for a moment on a suitable liquid. Perhaps a molten metal to assist a Smith? Simple water to assist a farmer? He was puzzled.
Whatever liquid was used, it would be ejected from a pen tip in the boys new index finger. The doctor was quite pleased with his work so far, so he slept on it. He had a few days yet before the brain would become no good.
It came to him in a dream. It was a childish dream full of vivid colours and shapes, and when he awoke he got to work immediately.
He imbued the liquid with a magical essence, asking for any sort of benevolent result (emphasis on benevolent since magic does as it pleases usually).
He filled each tube with a different liquid, each liquid having it's own unique effect. He was proud of himself, and he grinned as he put the final piece in place. He brushed back the hair from the nape of the neck and wound the mechanics up, then pulled out the knob.
The boy juttered once; twice.
It was silent for a long time, and the doctor began grumbling about viscosity and liquid density...
When there was a sudden, quick tick. Followed by another, then another. A soft ticking noise came from the boy's new body, and one of his fingers twitched.
Yes! What a wonderful machine! What a wonderful child this would be!
//okay, so 500 words. Was it good? Should I continue?
//please encourage my trash! Also, the cover photo is an edit of the original that I did. The real artwork is the picture for this chapter.
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The Painter's Blood
FanfictionIn a time before electricity, back when magic was more than mere illusion, there was a man who was not a man; and yet he was. He was a magician and a creator; and yet he was not. His works were praised far and wide, yet none could be found upon wall...
