[m] there is a two-fold silence

Caillen Winters · 06-05-2011, 10:32 PM

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WARNING This thread contains: sexual content, ~~graphic~~ violence, or extremely offensive material starting with the -- post. Reader discretion is advised.

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table © sie :: the sunset execution.

Again the lonely days deepened, stretching on to the horizon with an endlessness that pleaded for redemption. But no quarter was given to the mountain man - He who made himself the beast he dreaded, a creature formed of stone and snow and the cold blue eyes of a freshly shattered dawn. She had known, when she left him for the last time, that perhaps there was a weakening of resolve within her lover - He alone seemed unaware of how the time had changed him, how the echoing sound of his own voice had pierced the sanity always drawn near.

It had been endless days since Talitha de le Poer had left him - the sun and moon sneered at his existence, such a mild blight on the terrible, wonderful world. Come next winter the snows would fall again, burying any trace of Caillen Winters and the den he had lost his soul in. Only the trees would remember him - All around for many, many paces, they were carved with strange images by the tip of a sharpened antler. The images told of his life - Of man and woman, of the demons that hunted them. They told of the murder he had thought for his mother, and they told of the embrace of the de le Poer woman. Little primitive stick figures, tangled in fornication and sin - detailing every aspect of his crumbling mind, like the etchings of a madman in his jail cell.

These trees would form a tomb, and perhaps the red-haired siren would return here and wander amongst them; Perhaps she would add to the withered bark the story of how Caillen died.

He came down from the mountain as the sun began to set, bleeding profusely across the deepening sky. Already the moon had risen, but it was a bone-white echo in the violent purple, lost to the graphic splendor of the sun's murder. He came in silence, but with a finality that filled his massive frame. The Antler weapon was strapped to his leg, but as was the nature of the man buried deep within the husk of muscle and warm flesh, he came in quiet peace. All he wanted was within the skull border, and the man sensed that he needed her now, as he would never need her again.

Hypothermia blue eyes did not linger on the gaping maws of previous trespassers as they gazed out blindly in their own never-ending death. The madness within him blinded the Winters man to his own mortal peril. Within this borders, at last, he called for her - A ringing cry, demanding and possessive, for she was his. He loved her. He loved her with all of his poor, gentle heart. Any who sought to keep her from him would feel the wrath of his loneliness, the dark beast within that had eroded the kind soul till he rotted, trapped in the body that his whore-mother had birthed.

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