I feel the air rush out from the center

Larkspur D'Angelo · 07-30-2011, 01:22 AM

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pray to your god, open your heart

He had been scarred before; Misery had done that to him while he lay, recovering from a beating that had almost killed him. So drugged on opiates was he that the words he had spoken came in odd bursts. Larkspur did not remember them. When he had woken from the haze his arms had been cut open and turned white by magic. The pain had been incredible. Learning he himself had spoken the prophecy was even further proof that the dark god had claimed him. Larkspur and Misery alone knew what the words were. None living spoke the language of the dead, save those who had met him.

Larkspur turned his head to her voice, meeting one eye the color of the sunset. He did not find Tlanti attractive, both for her breed and her build (for she was too thin, too bony), but admired the veracity of her personality. The words she spoke cut him deeper than her blade, and he looked down at his white hands. A faint smile came across his face. Someone else had told him that, a long time ago.

“My sister thought so too. That’s why she came here.” To save a child that would have been killed to save her soul. Odessa was a bright little girl; if she had been born ill or malformed, she would have been a blight. Instead she was simply proof, to Larkspur, that even the holiest blood could fall.

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