Act III- The Unknown Escape
And our heroes traveled on, masking their footprints with the blood they cried with each waking step. They waded through shadow, happy and aware, yet blind to the other. They scrambled around for each other's thoughts as the hunters were pushed from the world and all worry was lost.
Paris was cold. He had lost so much in his life. He knew that there were people in her thoughts that would be better, even if she refused to admit it. He felt she would be better off without her. The Cold Martyr spoke her words, and he was sure. On the return to her world, he would fall, and she would be stricken with grief, but none so much as lowly Paris, who felt that this would surely be the end. He knew that she was better off, and she would find more, his hunter would find her game. He knew Christ would be better off, happy with the Martyr and if he didn't fall, he may just find his prize, for he had lost the taste for her thoughts long ago. So he ran. Fast. He held Helen as he ran, showing his wounded shell to the remaining light of the people around.
Helen, already tired from being chased ran with Paris. She knew what she wanted to do, and she dragged her friend along himself, over his track-marked body. She fought not to cross the line, but this was an inevitable loss.
Behind the veil of scars, they made their escape, and crossed the line. But they could still be seen, and until events eclipsed them, they must be wary for the starred man was right, and Paris could see water boiling before him, ready to spit out, overflowing and burning them all, especially the hunters.
So they waited, they leaving of Christ burnt in their minds.
Paris was cold. He had lost so much in his life. He knew that there were people in her thoughts that would be better, even if she refused to admit it. He felt she would be better off without her. The Cold Martyr spoke her words, and he was sure. On the return to her world, he would fall, and she would be stricken with grief, but none so much as lowly Paris, who felt that this would surely be the end. He knew that she was better off, and she would find more, his hunter would find her game. He knew Christ would be better off, happy with the Martyr and if he didn't fall, he may just find his prize, for he had lost the taste for her thoughts long ago. So he ran. Fast. He held Helen as he ran, showing his wounded shell to the remaining light of the people around.
Helen, already tired from being chased ran with Paris. She knew what she wanted to do, and she dragged her friend along himself, over his track-marked body. She fought not to cross the line, but this was an inevitable loss.
Behind the veil of scars, they made their escape, and crossed the line. But they could still be seen, and until events eclipsed them, they must be wary for the starred man was right, and Paris could see water boiling before him, ready to spit out, overflowing and burning them all, especially the hunters.
So they waited, they leaving of Christ burnt in their minds.