Sacrificial

2

(Chapter 2)
The creature

~*~

Author POV

It was undeniable the mark that the fragile human bore like a brand upon his chest, singed into the delicate silk of his soul.

The creature longed to reach out and feel the power that was woven into the threads of the branded soul, but knew it would lose a hand to its curiosity.

While the fates had remained unbothered by the lifelessness of the soul, the body that had no need for consciousness nor breath. The creature did not bare the same disattached countenance as the fates did, unnerved by the lifelessness of the small human that looked as big as a child in the creatures' arms.

The creature carried the small soul with a gentleness that was rare to observe in such a creature. Cradling the small head that no longer possessed an active mind, a mere shell of what it once was. 

"What took you so long precious one, they've been waiting for so long, so long" the creatures' voice was a raspy wail. Pressing its head to the human's still chest, as if searching for the answer. But there was no answer to give.

~*~

Raising its head it looked at the path ahead, descending down the stone steps, freshly made and polished, a route rarely taken. Clawed feet curled over the edge of each step, too big to fit neatly onto the steps. 

The door at the end of the steps creaks open, hinges crumbling due to disuse. 

"Who disturbs me?" the voice is old and crone like. The sound rattling the walls, bouncing from the stone, a disturbing melody.

The creature did not answer, waiting for the crone to come to them. They eventually did, feet scraping along the ground, legs too weak from age to lift high enough. The shuffling sound echoed around the deathly quiet room, it almost felt wrong to breath as if that would disturb the suffocating silence.

"Ah it is you" the crone's voice was less disturbing this time around, a softness to it that was rarely shared.

"What do you want from me?" the crone took a seat, the legs of the chair low so it did not have to lift itself far to sit. 

"Your work" the creature finally spoke, a bare whisper even it was afraid of the room. 

The room where the dead became the living.

"My hands shake to much for work any longer" the crone's hands did shake from where they rested upon the cane it carried to support its weight.

"This is one you will be able to still your hands for" the creature declared. 

"Indeed" the crone sounded surprised, at least that is what one would expect.

The creature knelt by the crone's side, despite being on its knees it towered above the crone. The gnarled hands revealed its precious cargo, the hazy eyes of the crone widened at the silky soul before it. 

"Can you still you hands for this soul?" the creature inquired.

"I believe I can" the crone's voice held something of awe as it gazed down upon the soul.

"Thank you weaver" the crone merely nodded, raising itself to its feet and gestured with the cane for the creature to follow behind them. 

~*~

Weavers were curious things. 

Their hands were steady, a necessary requirement for their profession. 

They sewed life into souls.

Breathing life into lifeless bodies.

The crone was one of a few weavers, only 10 existed, never more but always less. Weavers aged quickly and soon shrivelled up and died, it was a profession that none ever walked away from. For when one weaves life into a soul, they leave parts of their life in the threads, for each life created a part of the weaver's life is lost to their creation.

"This will be my last" the crone whispered.

"And what a way to go" the creature whispered back.

"Indeed" 

The creature did not wish to part with the soul in its arms, but it did anyway.

The stone table was cool to the touch as the creature lay the soul upon it. 

The room was warm despite its location, the occasional cool breeze would thread itself beneath the door causing a shiver to rush down the backs of those present. 

~*~

Watching a weaver work was a rare sight to behold. 

Seeing the threads of the silky soul be spun like gold between the clawed fingers of the weaver, watching as the see through silk of the soul become a glowing silver. The occasional glimpse of green visible in the thread, the life of the weaver being pulled from its body with each stitch made. 

Though the weaver was spinning away the last of its short life, it looked anything but sad. Instead it worked with eyes full of devotion, lovingly tightening each stitch made by skilled hands.

Despite what the weaver had said, their hands barely shook as they worked.

The creature was crouched down in the small room, not enough space to stand as tall as it did. Blood red tail swishing across the floor in a steady arc. Barely making a noise, not wanting to disturb the last moments of the weaver's life with unnecessary noise. Allowing the crone to throw their entire life into its creation, one last masterpiece.

The weaver let out a shaky breath, even the creature found itself holding their own breath. Holding the silver bladed scissors in shaking hands the weaver took one last look upon its creation.

Before cutting the thread that bound them together as one.

Forcing them to become two. The creator and the created. 

The creature moved to the table as the crone collapsed to the once warm stone. The cool air slipping under the door at a quicker pace now that there was nothing left to warm the room. Leaving the floor cool to the touch, much like the stone table was.

The creature lifted the human soul from the table coming to sit beside the collapsed weaver.

Taking the crone up into its arms, so it did not have to die upon the cold stone. The creator in one arm, the created in the other. Facing one another.

The creature watched as the created took its first breath of many and the weaver take its last.

The weaving of life had ended.

~*~

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Bye,

Winter