Hell Will Wait
He stared at the words of the letter for some time, letting the letters blur into a pink haze when the blood tears clouded his vision. It was so hard to be, right now.
His enemies grew in number, and as their names came to him, he considered their power.
His allies came to his mind as well, and as they came, he marked off the ones he could no longer trust.
Cardinal Mackenzie DuMont
Lady Molly Maye Maxwell
Regent Danielle Thorgrimmson
Quietly, he slid from the seat. He glided from the room to the window, and ran his fingers over the sill, running on memory and feel. His eyes were blurred. After a moment's contemplations of the smooth grain, to block out the feelings of rage and betrayal, fingers that would never hold a callous despite years of sword work slid open wood in wooden frame, and the glass sang.
He slipped first one leg and then the other out the window opening, and the freezing rain came down in sheets. Barely any visible effort had him gripping the overhang above the window. A pull, and a vault. His legs sprang and his shoulders received the rolling weight. As his body twisted and rolled, he came to a crouch on the roof. The rain made the shingles slick, but he hardly seemed to notice. The painful ice began to cling to his hair. Slowly, Cassius stripped away all the clothing, the Tool shirt and the white cargo pants, already graying beneath the freezing rain. He slid out of the red boxer briefs, one leg at a time.
Naked to the elements, in the presence of God's wrath, Cassius lay down in the glory of the storm. His body grew cold, but the heat it held had been stolen anyway. He faded to a light blue, the empty vessels showing through the pale milk white skin. His hair became crystaline, and pressed flat against his back. Through it all, as no human could, he kept his eyes ever upward, and always open. He saw the moon, a constant friend, occasionally looking back from the sky. It flirted with him, a grin here and there. His water pink tears mingled with jagged ice flurry and became a gory mask against his picture pretty face.
Minutes melted into hours, and hours froze on his body. Near sunrise, he began to work free from the piled white slush, which at its core had turned to a straitjacket of ice. It was hard work, and he welcomed the challenge. If he called upon the blood within, he might have guaranteed success. Yet, the weight of all that had come and all that would come was heavier, and so he almost asked God to take him to hell, almost asked for failure and the sun's burning rays.
Yet, he couldn't do it. Or rather, he couldn't help but break the ice and move past it. Naked in the early morning dark. He slipped back down and into the window, and took himself to rest. Plenty of enemies of the faith to do it for him. Suicide was cowardly, and he couldn't brook such cowardice, even if it might ease his own self-hatred. There was time enough for such recriminations in hell.
Hell would wait.
His enemies grew in number, and as their names came to him, he considered their power.
His allies came to his mind as well, and as they came, he marked off the ones he could no longer trust.
Cardinal Mackenzie DuMont
Lady Molly Maye Maxwell
Regent Danielle Thorgrimmson
Quietly, he slid from the seat. He glided from the room to the window, and ran his fingers over the sill, running on memory and feel. His eyes were blurred. After a moment's contemplations of the smooth grain, to block out the feelings of rage and betrayal, fingers that would never hold a callous despite years of sword work slid open wood in wooden frame, and the glass sang.
He slipped first one leg and then the other out the window opening, and the freezing rain came down in sheets. Barely any visible effort had him gripping the overhang above the window. A pull, and a vault. His legs sprang and his shoulders received the rolling weight. As his body twisted and rolled, he came to a crouch on the roof. The rain made the shingles slick, but he hardly seemed to notice. The painful ice began to cling to his hair. Slowly, Cassius stripped away all the clothing, the Tool shirt and the white cargo pants, already graying beneath the freezing rain. He slid out of the red boxer briefs, one leg at a time.
Naked to the elements, in the presence of God's wrath, Cassius lay down in the glory of the storm. His body grew cold, but the heat it held had been stolen anyway. He faded to a light blue, the empty vessels showing through the pale milk white skin. His hair became crystaline, and pressed flat against his back. Through it all, as no human could, he kept his eyes ever upward, and always open. He saw the moon, a constant friend, occasionally looking back from the sky. It flirted with him, a grin here and there. His water pink tears mingled with jagged ice flurry and became a gory mask against his picture pretty face.
Minutes melted into hours, and hours froze on his body. Near sunrise, he began to work free from the piled white slush, which at its core had turned to a straitjacket of ice. It was hard work, and he welcomed the challenge. If he called upon the blood within, he might have guaranteed success. Yet, the weight of all that had come and all that would come was heavier, and so he almost asked God to take him to hell, almost asked for failure and the sun's burning rays.
Yet, he couldn't do it. Or rather, he couldn't help but break the ice and move past it. Naked in the early morning dark. He slipped back down and into the window, and took himself to rest. Plenty of enemies of the faith to do it for him. Suicide was cowardly, and he couldn't brook such cowardice, even if it might ease his own self-hatred. There was time enough for such recriminations in hell.
Hell would wait.