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The Sanguine One. (Written ages ago, but felt it could use some eyes upon it)

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The Sanguine One. (Written ages ago, but felt it could use some eyes upon it)

Post  JMacaulay on Sun May 19, 2013 1:36 am

Never did you believe I could lead. Never did I believe I could follow. So here I am cast, trapped within walls that I have yet to see. This incomplete prison, set in the maw of eternal nothingness. Does it make you happy? Do the rains that are destined to fall carry a thousand sorrows of my defiance? Thought the shadowed figure in his ever long and deep fissure. Remember always, it was I who cut that scar upon your beautiful and sedentary countenance.
This fallen spirit could hear no sound. Nothing but the silent roar of his new home. No longer would an unearthly solar be the place he rested his head. These new walls carried no music. A million voices that sang his glory now extinguished, along with the light of the morning star. He hissed at the realisation.
My sweet lord. Thy punishment is absolute, of this I have no doubt.
At the words of his ponder, a great flame ignited. He saw the Genesis of his price for betrayal.
‘Betrayal!’ he spat. His voice no longer his own. What dulcet tones that used to pass beyond his lips now gone. What came forth was a low scathing purr, barely above a whisper.
This beautiful man, draped in golden silks now torn, observed the grand cavern in which he had fallen. It reflected his rage. The walls curved into an uneven dome. The stone was crimson in colour, with many black cracks. Dead veins formed in a body of solid blood Much larger than any temple that he had ever seen. As his eyes became accustomed to the awful light of the fire, he considered the ground in his proximity. The rock on which he crawled was fixed to nothing. Floating on air, or the agonising heat of the curling flame.
The wretch looked over the side of the rock. His guess was correct. He was on the highest rock in the pit. Many had formed below him. An empty audience for the great mound of stone.
This will be your throne my intemperate child. Said the voice of his master, echoing from the beyond. It’s tone great, but terrible. It made him weep.
Behind him a great spiked throne had been erected from the dust that flew in the waves of the heat. Made from the same angry red stone as the cavern.
Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? The voice spoke again in humourless humour.

You mock me Lord. Thought the wretch. Is this my doing? Or are you beginning to realise yourself? He challenged in quiet, through clenched teeth. A grim development when the only one, learns cruelty.


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JMacaulay
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