Eleison Undivine Me [BEING EDITED]

Episode One: fragmented (edited)

É̴͚͂̄͐̈l̶͙̮̈͜ȩ̴̥̠̣̩̪̣̺̚ĩ̷̡̢͈̪̻̭̗͚̼͚̒̑͆́̎̑̆̽̕s̴̯̻̼͛̊̒o̴̗͚̭̪̗̭̹̫͚̪͊̇ņ̵̼̝́́̔̆̔̇̚̚͝

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Suggestion: Always turn on and loop given music.

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"ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵍʳᵒʷ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ᵇᵒᵈⁱᵉˢ, ᵒⁿ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈˢ."

The world isn't only black in its colour; it is black in the way each whimper of unbound ain dissolves along with each breath, mixing in with the unmoving, unforgiving wind; it is black in the way the aching burns along his wounds, nerves, veins, and thump thump thumps so his vision zooms in and out, every time his heart pumps blood. In and out.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale-

His scream races along all his pores at once before it escapes in ear-splitting echoes. Again. And again. And again. andagainandagainandagainandagainandagain and again

The symbol burns into the white skin of his shoulder in vermillion flames curve by curve, inch by inch, earning one scream after the other so the black world is heavy and reeking with them. 

But more so, more so is the pain that explodes across his heart in physical reality.  The dry stem of a flower pierces through his skin, flesh, between two ribs to pierce the muscles of his very heart.

Before him the lady, covered head to toe black veils, feels the blood on her fingers across her tongue, then strokes the flower she has stabbed him with. 

The flower itself is a confusion of long petals the colour of drought, absorbing the crimson from his body, curling and hwirling into god-knows-what shapes.

"...oh, Kiel. My child, my sweet, sweet child.--" Her voice is thick with rhythms, soaking with cruelty. "...aren't you beautiful? Aren't you perfect?" 

Laughter. Whimpers.

"Not nearly enough." The flower has curled into a rose, blooming in full glory. 

"...a white rose, is the easiest to paint."

And his vision blurs in and out. In and out. In and out. In and out---)