The unlikely union of light and darkness.
"My soul is ruined; made of dead stars, and darkness. And yet, you managed to find light in my hollow heart. Beauty in my unholiness. You mended the fissures of my being. And for that, I shall worship you fo...
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Lilith's body walked with the living, but her soul, amongst the sea of sinners, drowned. Ophelia's paradox could not be solved in this tale either, for Lilith's soul did not scream for forgiveness, nor fought for deliverance. It remained placid, even as it was pushed and shoved further down the crater of fire, even as weeping and gnashing of teeth horribly sounded everywhere.
Her soul welcomed the flames below her; relics of her faith long departed.
It was yours, the devil whispered, all silver and snake-tongued. All your fault. And Lilith believed him, trusted him as though he were a God. She let herself sink deeper. She accepted her penance. She flexed her hand and did not stir as she was dragged into the lowest hell.
The devil was absolving her, and she followed with reverence.
"Are you listening?" Hiya whispered, tightening her hold on Lilith's arm. Her voice, usually melodious, carried a low resonance to it, giving way to her irritation.
The witch cleared her throat and shifted her attention towards Abel, feigning innocence. "Of course I was." As soon as she had her eyes on the boy, however, her mind drifted off once again and the noise in the infirmary broke away. The horrible memory of the fight flashed before her, and she saw him, bleeding and howling with pain as he cradled his wrist. She compared the daunting image to the boy in front of her now. The difference was vast.
Color had returned to his once ashen face, and his bruises were gradually receding into his skin. Although his wrist was cast, and he was bedridden, Mallor was in good spirits, all grins, and laughs. Nonetheless, Lilith soured at the thought of his broken wrist. She felt guilty as ever.
"What do you say, Lil?" Abel's voice trudged through her mind and dragged her consciousness to the present. Lilith met his expecting stare with a blush of embarrassment. "Someone wasn't paying attention," he teased, a knowing smile resting on his lips. "But it's quite alright. No offense taken."
Lilith let out a sigh and slumped. "I'm tired is all." It was a lousy excuse, she realized, but at the moment, it was what all she could muster. For the past week, her life was made of insignificant moments, all strung into a wreath that routinely turned like a clock. In the mornings, just before dawn broke through the land, Lilith broke away from her night terrors, and waited, shivering on her bed, until either girl woke up. Then, as though she were not troubled, she would go to the Great Hall, to her lessons, and in the evenings, would visit Abel. Usually, they would keep busy with school work and muted conversations until Mallor woke, and that is when they talked until they were removed from the infirmary, by which time was always nightfall. Lilith always dreaded leaving, for she knew once she lost herself to the realm of her mind, the night terrors would ensue.
