Fairy-light {...Christmas tree lights} induced migraines and plotbunnies. Apparently this is what results from mixing the two. =w=b


Seisyll [♂] .&&. Krishna [♂]
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{Priests and demons... Darling, I think we've gone wrong somewhere.}
{{Or maybe we were were never in the right.}}
{Hm... Or that.}
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God, I just want to lay down, these colors make my eyes hurt,
This feeling calls for everything that I am not.
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There's a book lying on the table in front of him, open, its tea-stained aged pages stiff and worn to the touch.
He hesitates.
Fingers lightly skim along the paper; he regards the diagrams and spell circles with a rueful smile; and painted wrists catch the sunlight, burning blue into his eyes.
He retracts his hands, sighs, spares a glance at the door- a dusty and much-loved chair dips under his weight, feathers rub lightly against each other and sound like satin when he shifts. He produces a variety of tools from the bag over his shoulder, assembles them quickly and quietly, then waits.
He's not sure what he waits for- a sign, perhaps, from a God he's sworn his life to but never even seen? Never heard from, always doubted? He opens his mouth as if to say something, stops, shakes his head and sighs.
Outside, a white bird ruffles its feathers, preens its wings, and flies.
He turns his eyes back to the book, "...You're going to be rather angry at this, I think." He says, smiling a bit. It fades as quickly as it came.
He tinkers with a brass device of some kind, straightening its long legs and pointing them in three directions. It gleams in the daylight. "But maybe you won't mind so much."
He spreads his hands against the book, presses magic into the pages- blue, red, purple spreading out into the ink and seeping into the tome. He feels the link being formed, a tingling sensation, and savors it.
"After all... I'm just That Pain in the Ass from one sector over. And you're just That Damn Demon, aren't you..." The smile is back, sardonic and laced with bitter regrets. He keeps half a mind on the link, the pushing, pulsing presence under his fingertips, just below his mind. He's careful not to let him hear, but close enough to let him feel.
"But we've always been together, haven't we? Ever since I opened the void... And it was on accident, I'll have you know. But you never believed that... You never believed in a lot."
He sighed, caressing the binding between two pages with one soft fingertip. The presence began to burn, to push harder against its prison. It was almost free, why was he hesitating?
"There are... Things that you can't run from, I've learned. I think you might have taught me that. And this... This is one of those things."
"...I'm sorry. I'll... miss you, Krishna. You damn demon."
A beat of time passes by.
He chuckles a bit, and considers summoning him one last time just to tell him that he's leaving. But he's not that cruel.
So instead of pushing in, merging with the monster, he pulls out, snagging threads of magic and ink, the mixture rising and suspend in the air. The presence is gone; but he had brushed it just enough to feel the betrayal.
He regards the perfectly round drops of ink with a blank stare. His heart feels torn, and he doesn't want to see what he's done- but he looks on anyway, breaking all the while.
...It's darker out, now; sunset. He finally waves the droplets into an ink bottle- one by one, deliberately slow. with each drop he feels the magic sizzling away. It's fine. He won't need it where he's going.
He corks the bottle and stands, reaching out to hold it over the ledge of his window. He debates his options... But pulls back, cradling the bottle to his chest, hunched over it with his face turned away from the light.
He'll take it. It's the only thing he has left, now.
Below the priest, below his tower, and far below the cover of clouds, a city burns.