His Little Heir

Cascading Color

     The summer nights of a seamstress's web surrounded his thoughts of her. And in the spinning and chaos, Daya sat alone. Austin could never quite see her face, her head drooped low, and her eyes stayed heavy.

     Her body still.

     The arms dragged much like the head, lazily hanging there almost as if they awaited an old friend. And the hands, they begged for touch's fire.

     But she, she remained still.

     So.. still.

      The seamstress spun scenes of passion, chaos, and bitter agony. A black silk rose, clawing at the summer night sky. And one by one, strands of collateral color descended upon the landscape with icicle's strength.

     But Daya never flinched.

     Falling, falling, falling into nothingness. Their love was falling.

     And she remained still.

     Austin, with a new awareness, found himself sprinting until his lungs lined themselves with desperation's barnish. Then the blood came, gushing and blurring the prince's sight to blindness.

      And she became farther away in her stillness.

     The icicles plummeted, ripping and tearing his heart's wound even further. The hands of time slowed as if they were taking pitty on him.

     Her very being hazed, glitching as the simulation unravled.

     Austin began to crawl, his hands blistering from the darkness's abyss. It extended itself, looming over her stillness. And the world's color, left with no refuge, befell Daya.

      In its flashes lived memories.

    
 Memories of raging kisses screaming with passion.
Memories of sparkling laughter overflowing.
Memories of both happiness and grief's overflow upon their cheeks. Memories of three years.

     And the stillness of the one without her.

     The year Daya was taken away.

     Their missing year.

     All for what?

     Stillness?
 

    
     But the blackness had already began to sink its fatigue ridden teeth into Austin's burning flesh. The beast howled as the last of its hide began to consume his love.

     Dying

     Dying

     Dying

     He was dying, and so was she.

     Numbness's claws had not caressed his lips, no, not yet. Maybe, he could call her name one last time.

     Blood began to rise, silencing the prince, but the princess was not yet a queen. And just maybe...

     He could save Daya.

     Almost a year earlier, Austin was planning their future.

     And now, her name could barely scrape against his dying throat.

    

      "Daya?"

    

      The dark shell that threatened to envelop her hissed in a sputtering smoke in spite of itself, giving way to its counter part's cascading color.