& THE END COMES WHEN WE SAY “FINIS.” [ID / @poietl]: .. [ THOSE WHO WALK THE TERRAIN OF FINIVIT ARE NOT MADE TO COWER IN FEAR. pusillanimity was vacant of their seraphinite blood. THEIR HANDS WERE TAILORED TO DESTRUCTION, & THEIR FEET, TO TRAMPLE WHAT SCURRY UNDERNEATH THE SOLES. not to curl up; frightened, like a child, against the bark of the trees bordering the outskirts of the realm. to sit, idle, waiting for an inevitable doom, as if powerless to stop it. NO, WORLDENDERS WERE NOT MADE FOR WEAKNESS. BUT HERE HE WAS. knees held close to his chest, and victor, (/my rose/,) even closer. mark wished that he hadn't followed him, prayed to some unknown god that this wouldn't transpire. MARK HAS LIVED CENTURIES WITHOUT A FACE. WITHOUT THE SMOOTH LAYERS OF SKIN, (so lively, so full of color, of life,) without the distinct, minute details that made any other creature so /human/ in nature. INSTEAD, HE, AT HALF THE SIZE OF A TITAN FROM THE MYTHS OF OLD, beautiful monstrosity he is, has let his body sink into the soil of the earth. mark can't find it in himself to look at victor, not like this -- he is exposed, vulnerable -- NOT WHEN HE'S AFRAID OF THE LOOK HE'LL BE MET WITH. ] yes, [ it is spoken softly, timid. but he feels the rumble in the ground underneath him still. ] i'm.. /i'm sorry/.
