DUENDE || Papa Emeritus III

One : Nocturnal Nights of Ritual

---

"Take your stand, adorn your robes and mitre, Papa Emeritus III. We will watch from below." Tender smiles. They meant nothing. So transparent you could decipher the words, rake your hands into the emotion through each curvature of a letter.

"Welcome to the Clergy."

A momentary, thoughtful pause between such disguised condescending words.

Welcome.

Welcome.

Welcome to the beginning of the end.

The timer has begun, slowly...

going...

down.

 The breath that escaped from the cages; more accurately described as Terzo's lips much resembled that internal timer. Leaving him, slipping from the confined space of his lungs to leave the encapsulated vulnerable emptiness. Air would someday leave him, abandon him mercilessly to die at the unforgiving palms of death. 

  A whirlwind, a black hole of a pool designed to so cleanly wipe an identity from existence. Nothing more experienced in the task than the Clergy. To pull him under the surface with hands adorned in the very same leather clad fingertips as his own, left to let the ice freeze back over, body and soul still trapped below the icicles. Eyes of his own shade and shape, ones that so deeply cared, only to betray just as easily. He could already feel the vines restricting him, confining him to a position so claustrophobic it provided the acceptance that accompanied the very dependance of fate. A cascading waterfall of blood-red veils. Tears stained crimson from pain so unlawfully put on show and tell. 

It came with glory. A high place of power, Papa Emeritus.

But just possibly, this accomplishment of a title would rob him of such precious life sooner.

---

Sometimes you wondered what a post-apocalyptic world would be like.

 Whether or not the mass entirety of the human race would subject themselves to follow, obeying the orders of a leader so fearfully content the world would shatter upon hearing the voice of a supreme. If the skies would be painted red with broken ideas, leaving solutions that would mend the cracks in a fallen legacy.  A perfect order. A hive mind. 

And the leader.

 The leader of it all. Clad in black, so powerfully intimidating it rendered lips speechless, ordered blood to still and heartbeats to stop to provide silence for such meaningful words to fill the minds of brainwashed souls.

Would it be that way?

You pulled your phone from your pocket, wincing at the suddenly slightly-too-bright illumination. the date and time shone back into your reflective pupils, prominent and obvious.

9:32, October 31st, 2015.

Sighing, you slid the device back into your pocket. Maybe in a few thousand years, would your little apocalyptic ideas be determined. As of now, you had more imposing things to lay the focus of your eyes upon.

Concerts.

 They held a special place in your heart. You could recall memories from years of your life, singers and shining instruments to fill your ears with melodies so perfectly unique in their carefully procedured style. Notes tying and winding themselves into the wires of your brain, wrapping you into chokeholds of obsessions and admiration for the prestigious art.