and dread the day when dreaming ends

Psyke D'Angelo · 03-31-2011, 04:31 PM

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He could smell the char of flesh from the den shared with both mother and stranger, and sickly green eyes opened into the shadows of the night. Something had been taken from the world. His mother had done such things before, and it was no surprise she had found another to sacrifice within the confines of the caves. At least it wasn't his own fur enveloped in the fire; she was not above the murder of her own blood, as proved by the burning of Phobos in the previous summer. Curious, as was natural in the young, he drew furred mass of muscle from the cold ground. He was ready to find the pyre.

Heavy steps carried tainted blood through the darkness in search of a manifested goddess; he saw what she had done, emulating the Silver Lady she was born for. In the eyes of Khalif, he had been one of the unlucky, condemned to unfulfilled life. Psyke did not save him that, for she agreed. He was of Tak. He was unholy. But she had not killed him yet. Instead, her anger was put forth onto the now-dead woman strapped to her funeral pyre; his mother simply stared at the remains without true feeling, giving final words in a tongue he was familiar with.

Silence preceded his approach, shattering into thousands of shards of noise once he made his place beside the woman. "Und die Sonne ging über dem Horizont," he started, following the blue-eyed gaze of his mother's face to the blackened remains of whatever sinner she had condemned to the Gods. "The departed was gone." He allowed the final phrase to leave his mouth without feeling, for the dead was a stranger to him.

She didn't recognize that Kafziel had found her, too wrapped up in the song within her skull and the deed she had committed in the name of Khalif. It wasn't until he echoed the tongue spoken during their ceremonies that she looked upon his dark form. Her children always seemed dirty, but she could do nothing apart from blame the mother and father who had birthed her and her siblings into the world. Anzu had been dark. Misery had once been the same. Her children were tied to Tak by lineage, and it was simply how it would be. All she could do was offer them back to the Night lord, as she had done with Tirisphone and Phobos. Kafziel and Chernobog might someday join the others, but so far he was lucky. She had no desire to rid herself a companion in her travels.

"Her brother sealed a fate for her; aren't you lucky that your own would never do such things," she explained, tilting her head upward; Kafziel had grown into a larger body, filled out and muscular, pleasing to the touch. If she had been more alive, she might have appreciated him more. As it was, she only noticed in the darkness, when her child was suffering his directed delusions. The D'Angelo boy only laughed at her words. "My brother is dead." The statement was simple, and she could only agree. She had been the one to tear his life away, after all. There was no way to pretend otherwise.

Charcoal toes turned on dusty ground, back to the remains of the female. Kafziel watched with his D'Angelo eyes, wondering what went through his mother's head, but unable to presume. She kept herself closed, speaking only when necessary; in the entirety of his life, he had only ever seen her interact with Rah'khir's Wicca without prompting from someone else. A dark hand rose to rub the side of her face, as if she were stressed upon a topic that was unspoken. He leaned, tangled hair brushing across dainty silver shoulders. "Is something wrong?" She gave a shake of her head.

"We need to leave."

The fact was simple, and the nomadic D'Angelos both knew why. A dead At'Lethe would cause trouble for the ones who came from the outside, who revered Gods that no other understood. With mutual understanding, they moved quickly into the dawn, ready to gather their scarce belongings; only one person might miss them, but Psyke felt no concern for that at the moment. She simply wanted to be gone. She had known Misery was not there. It was time to find her.

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