05-16-2009, 06:48 PM
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I doubt the fire would have been my end, or even yours. Gabriel’s eyes, for one brief moment, went terribly hollow. He recalled that terrible day, and the scent of smoke and ash above the salt-water. The screaming had been the most horrible. Some cried out for their friends, their families. Most couldn’t make words. Most died shrieking. Such sounds were not meant to be heard by mortal men. Twice now, God had spoken. And twice now, Gabriel had listened. He had not told anyone, save his brother, of this fact. Arkham had not understood. Few would, of course. The madwoman with the dark hair. A man whom he had been forced to leave behind. And Jezebel. The corners of his mouth turned up and he smiled at her touch. His tail wagged furiously behind him, and suddenly frustrated with his form, began the transformation. It took moments, rushed as it was, but the sensation of pain was fleeting. Around his neck three charms; the cross, Saint Christopher, and his father’s symbol, chimed and flashed in the light. Long hair tumbled around his face, a prophet incarnate, and he began to speak quickly. “I returned home after the fire, and served beside my mother. When she left, the clan became mine. We’ve suffered another war, and another fire, but stand still.” Both, he supposed, were his fault. |