07-23-2010, 11:03 AM
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it's poetry carved in flesh, this beautiful hell of ours
He conversed with shadows, silently speaking a tongue foreign to the mortal world. They caressed his hair, pushing through the dark locks with skeletal hands and burning, glowing eyes of hellfire and breath of sulfur. They told him of what he’d done, reminding him again and again. Eyes closed, allowing the barrage of insults to fly, crashing against his soul in an infernal tide. He had failed, failed, failed. He was worthless. Serpentine voices hissed in his ears, laughing in sickly, soft voices in harsh, guttural tones. He opened his eyes. He was no longer alone. Turning, crimson eyes first fell on the child, so near, he was almost within reach. Dark hunger rose in his soul—his physical form crying out for sustenance as it slowly starved and withered away. One thin, clawed hand extended outward, palm up, as he lowered himself forward, leaning invitingly toward the young wolf.
Hair still concealed his features, hanging limp and drab across his face, though crimson eyes peered between the dark strands. “Here, child,” he hissed, voice hoarse from lack of use. Curiosity may have possessed the child’s soul, though wariness won out, fueled by its mother’s voice as she cried out. Halo. He knew her. Even as her voice faded from the air he sprung forward, snatching the child up in his hands. Beneath the forearms he lifted him, cradling him as gently as he would one that he adored. He remained where he was, standing silhouetted against the sea and the early morning sky, moving one finger toward the child’s face to soft brush against the damp puppy nose. Cruel smile graced his features, stretching carnally across the canine’s muzzle. “Don’t fret,” he purred, gently stroking the soft fur between the ears.
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He conversed with shadows, silently speaking a tongue foreign to the mortal world. They caressed his hair, pushing through the dark locks with skeletal hands and burning, glowing eyes of hellfire and breath of sulfur. They told him of what he’d done, reminding him again and again. Eyes closed, allowing the barrage of insults to fly, crashing against his soul in an infernal tide. He had failed, failed, failed. He was worthless. Serpentine voices hissed in his ears, laughing in sickly, soft voices in harsh, guttural tones. He opened his eyes. He was no longer alone. Turning, crimson eyes first fell on the child, so near, he was almost within reach. Dark hunger rose in his soul—his physical form crying out for sustenance as it slowly starved and withered away. One thin, clawed hand extended outward, palm up, as he lowered himself forward, leaning invitingly toward the young wolf.
Hair still concealed his features, hanging limp and drab across his face, though crimson eyes peered between the dark strands. “Here, child,” he hissed, voice hoarse from lack of use. Curiosity may have possessed the child’s soul, though wariness won out, fueled by its mother’s voice as she cried out. Halo. He knew her. Even as her voice faded from the air he sprung forward, snatching the child up in his hands. Beneath the forearms he lifted him, cradling him as gently as he would one that he adored. He remained where he was, standing silhouetted against the sea and the early morning sky, moving one finger toward the child’s face to soft brush against the damp puppy nose. Cruel smile graced his features, stretching carnally across the canine’s muzzle. “Don’t fret,” he purred, gently stroking the soft fur between the ears.