07-23-2010, 11:56 AM
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it's poetry carved in flesh, this beautiful hell of ours
Desperation grew at his words, flooding her as though from an electrical shock. His smile grew, twisting his worn features into something monstrous, though like a blow her words caused the expression to flicker momentarily. Not the pleading, begging tone she’d taken, but the words, perhaps misused in ignorance and nothing more. “Wouldn’t you mean nephew?” he asked, tone callous. His muzzle wrinkled, holding the child in a less comforting embrace. A simple slip up and nothing more, he’d assume, for nothing else could be the truth. Vitium had sired these children despite any resemblance that Halo held with himself—Vitium, that wicked, traitorous bastard that made Samael feel like a saint, for Samael had never betrayed her in his entire life.
He had failed her—gruesomely so—but he had never turned his back on her save to flee in spineless cowardice. He had taken his time in returning, unable to face her when he knew what he’d done. He’d failed, the worst crime of all. He deserved to be stoned to death, flayed alive, and so much more. She should not forgive him for this weakness, as he didn’t deserve her adoration or praise any longer. She hadn’t entrusted him with the truth, and he hadn’t avenged her. He didn’t belong here anymore, if he ever had. He was worthless now—his presence a dark, intolerable stain on starched linen.
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Desperation grew at his words, flooding her as though from an electrical shock. His smile grew, twisting his worn features into something monstrous, though like a blow her words caused the expression to flicker momentarily. Not the pleading, begging tone she’d taken, but the words, perhaps misused in ignorance and nothing more. “Wouldn’t you mean nephew?” he asked, tone callous. His muzzle wrinkled, holding the child in a less comforting embrace. A simple slip up and nothing more, he’d assume, for nothing else could be the truth. Vitium had sired these children despite any resemblance that Halo held with himself—Vitium, that wicked, traitorous bastard that made Samael feel like a saint, for Samael had never betrayed her in his entire life.
He had failed her—gruesomely so—but he had never turned his back on her save to flee in spineless cowardice. He had taken his time in returning, unable to face her when he knew what he’d done. He’d failed, the worst crime of all. He deserved to be stoned to death, flayed alive, and so much more. She should not forgive him for this weakness, as he didn’t deserve her adoration or praise any longer. She hadn’t entrusted him with the truth, and he hadn’t avenged her. He didn’t belong here anymore, if he ever had. He was worthless now—his presence a dark, intolerable stain on starched linen.