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The soft blue spider lilies sway in tall graves and ruins. Sea salt and blood taint the air, filling his senses. His golden eyes drift over the coast, looking for the rumors he heard of the beautiful land here. The aching body switches slowly, a comfort to their senses — a sweet relief to be freed.
Her violet hair falls into her face, melting in with the soft blues blinding her vision. The rain begins to drip into her hair, making the syrupy color drip further. The golden cross grows, rain nurturing it further and further.
What did you abandon here, my betrothed? she asks in the depths of her mind. Wait, do not answer. I fear your answer is something I find displeasing.
It is. their mind responds back. A formless thought wanders down the coast, shouting go to her sweet mind. Their mind agrees to go.
Go.
Go.
Go.
Go.
Go.
Go.
Go.
Go.
The rocks prick at his tortured feet. He carries their body to the edge of the fissure. His golden hair sticks to the thick pooling blood along his golden white gown.
Trina, my love and saint, bless the souls you find as you descend for us. I cannot carry you any farther. It aches far too much. he rings into their tired mind. They agree, her body re-emerging to keep him safe. His drooping eyes slowly soften to be awake but relaxed. The shift in their face to a blued, almost suffocating tone marks her full presence in their body.
She begins the descent, small drips of nectar from the lilies in her hair blossoming more. Her soft features and hands carefully cradle the ailing souls, crying from abandonment and pain. The blessed nectar she gives them aids them to sleep peacefully for the first time in decades, silently killing some of them as mercy. She prays over each one she kills, guiding their souls from unforgiving grace or serpent flame.
One soul becomes four.
Four become sixteen.
Sixteen becomes thirty-two.
Each soul's eyes glazed with her purple her, bleeding with her syrup. The flowers sprout, thicker and wildly, like they had fresh air and pure water. One human soul watches her as she continues down, animals beginning to creep after her. She softly pets them, bringing their heads close to the crook of her neck, letting them chew on her flowers and syrupy hair.
When her feet graze the lowest coffin, they exchange their body wordlessly. He carefully sets their crown on the ground, thick with an ever-growing haze of deep amethyst purple. Slowly, their top rolls off their shoulders, exposing the bloodied skin underneath. He lifts the golden hair from their back, shifting it into a tight twist holding itself tight.
The air grows more potent, the animals bowing down to the Empyrean in their presence. They begin to drift into their eternal slumber, alive, but never awake. The golden lilies caught in his hair reflect of the little sunlight like his fearsome, golden eyes.
A soft note of a lullaby begins to pierce the air, soft like a children's choir that once serenaded his mother's warm, golden churches. Each portion of the melody haunts the dying tomb, shifting the haze into their own lungs. A mother's forgotten lullaby breathes soothing life for the last time in his life, a scornful reminder of what he left.
Of what he once wished would fix their problems so they could live in peace.
The final note rings like a bird's first note of the morning, pure and clean. One last deep breath of the haze fills their lungs, numbing their body fully.
"Thank you. For everything, Trina. Truly, you were the only one who could have held the throne with me. But, I made a promise with Radhan," he announces into the void.
His hands reach into his chest, golden tears beginning to drip from his eyes. Her back begins to emerge from the wound, dripping with syrupy blood and nectar. The thick, bare skin of his flesh strings and tears as she separates from him. The sickly red and blue blood pours unto the ground, soaking and dyeing the floor a sickly purple. His neck tears, her sickly skin and head coming with it. He violently tears her from his body, destroying her legs. A guttural scream rings out, unable to wake a soul.
Her head lifts slowly, dripping thick purple nectar. She lifts her arms, cradling his face.
"Miquella, Miquella. What did I do to deserve this?" she asks, purple lips drifting towards his face.
"My love, I cannot let my vacillation ruin our plan. Our doubt in the plan, my doubt in leaving you, it has all gone. I cannot let us get in the way," he says in pain, a cold forgotten tone of a child's first tears over the loss of a pet or grandparent.
"Is this my happy ending? Being here without you?" she asks, a whisper on the wind, lips brushing his. He pulls he slightly closer, kissing her for the last time.
"No."
"Funny. We almost made it," she says. "We almost made it together," she says as he begins to take another step towards the cliff. She loosens his hair, watching the golden waves cascade in the murky purple environment. Her vision begins to grow hazy and blurry, eyes drooping.
Her body feels heavy as she falls into the hazy void of the fissure.
He takes a step back, deeply breathing in the haze to fix the pain. His tears clean his body of the blue blood. He slowly begins to walk back up the fissure, stopping at the cliffs on his way up. He scoops up some of the blood left on his body, tracing the sigil for the golden cross into the ground, next to the deep-purple lilies born of her descent.
"Kindly Miquella. I see you've thrown away something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation offer to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?" whispers the human soul who followed her. He looks to the soul, golden eyes piercing the darkness like a rabid animal.
"Here, I abandon my love," he whispers into the dead tomb. The golden cross brightens the area, blinding the human. "Go, see what I've thrown away, and see the pain that I have healed from."
Stop Miquella
Don't make— that child a— god.
For that child, god— is— a prison.
god— in a cage can— not save anyone.
K— Kill Miquella.
Pleas— Please forgive— that child.