07-21-2009, 02:35 PM
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Rain was pouring down in torrents as it had been nonstop for weeks. Outside the window, the weather seemed to mock him, mirroring his inner turmoil as he watched the droplets fall. Nails screeched across the glass, dragging over the polished surface of the looking glass as he spied his own reflection. Hideous. Kaena’s scars made her beautiful. Without them, she’d bear no reflection of the life she’d lived and the creatures she’d killed and endured, making up who she was. Obviously, she’d probably look better without them, but always, the woman would be perfect in his eyes no matter what. But the Prince’s face was marred and destroyed. Gabriel had been the first to strike and mark him. Gabriel had doubted his claims of the Angel, calling him a liar and inadvertently a blasphemer. But Samael had Seen, and Samael had believed.
His own claws had dug through his flesh, gouging wounds that would never heal as he’d desired to reflect the misery and torment within in a state less than sane. Hybrid had sliced his face up when they’d fucked the first time, dragging nails across his cheek and marring the other, then perfect side of his face. Then that strange being with the veiled eyes had carved an ‘x’ into his chest, as though desiring to mark him for some sort of sinner or outcast, as Cain had been marked from his Father. Samael was beautiful. Samael was perfect. But now he appeared as nothing more than some sort of monster, reflecting the true beast within. The Deceiver was the deceived, less able to mask his true identity behind glamour and charisma when his face was so torn up. Fist withdrew, smashing into the mirror and sending a myriad of glittering, shimmering glass shards to the ground below
Last image within the frame was of his twisted face, snarl ripping through his muzzle and eyes gleaming hatred. He’d been given, but he’d failed to protect his lovely features. But it was nothing more than his own loss, he knew. Hood was pulled over his face—black cloak enveloping his form and masking his scarred features. Vanity was a sin and the coyote wore it well, just as the dark cloth pulled down over his eyes. Turning away, he strode outside into the rain, feeling the droplets quickly soaking through to his fur and skin, but he didn’t found he much cared.
Rain was pouring down in torrents as it had been nonstop for weeks. Outside the window, the weather seemed to mock him, mirroring his inner turmoil as he watched the droplets fall. Nails screeched across the glass, dragging over the polished surface of the looking glass as he spied his own reflection. Hideous. Kaena’s scars made her beautiful. Without them, she’d bear no reflection of the life she’d lived and the creatures she’d killed and endured, making up who she was. Obviously, she’d probably look better without them, but always, the woman would be perfect in his eyes no matter what. But the Prince’s face was marred and destroyed. Gabriel had been the first to strike and mark him. Gabriel had doubted his claims of the Angel, calling him a liar and inadvertently a blasphemer. But Samael had Seen, and Samael had believed.
His own claws had dug through his flesh, gouging wounds that would never heal as he’d desired to reflect the misery and torment within in a state less than sane. Hybrid had sliced his face up when they’d fucked the first time, dragging nails across his cheek and marring the other, then perfect side of his face. Then that strange being with the veiled eyes had carved an ‘x’ into his chest, as though desiring to mark him for some sort of sinner or outcast, as Cain had been marked from his Father. Samael was beautiful. Samael was perfect. But now he appeared as nothing more than some sort of monster, reflecting the true beast within. The Deceiver was the deceived, less able to mask his true identity behind glamour and charisma when his face was so torn up. Fist withdrew, smashing into the mirror and sending a myriad of glittering, shimmering glass shards to the ground below
Last image within the frame was of his twisted face, snarl ripping through his muzzle and eyes gleaming hatred. He’d been given, but he’d failed to protect his lovely features. But it was nothing more than his own loss, he knew. Hood was pulled over his face—black cloak enveloping his form and masking his scarred features. Vanity was a sin and the coyote wore it well, just as the dark cloth pulled down over his eyes. Turning away, he strode outside into the rain, feeling the droplets quickly soaking through to his fur and skin, but he didn’t found he much cared.