"London bridge is falling down, falling down..."
The stale room stood motionless. Its grey walls at attention, its bricks eyeing the flames that surrounded every corner of the room.
Aemulus walked her fingers along a chess board. Her eyes filled with the same cold and wretched disdain that Ryan saw in her previous visions; disdain that burned and consumed everything around it: always hungry, but never satisfied.
She rubbed her fingertips together, glaring down at someone that was out of Ryan's view. She ran her tongue along her fangs, her voice a cold chill in the midsummer heat.
Aemulus straddled her chair. "I always found that song interesting, you know. Hearing it through that girl and Trophonius always brought a bit of joy to my slumber. Of course, you don't think I'm capable of joy, do you John?"
"Go to hell."
Blaise's voice sent a shiver down Ryan's spine. All of his usual tiredness had been replaced by an emotion she couldn't describe. It bit with the bitter tongue of both scorn and apathy, yet seemed to be comprised of neither.
Aemulus blinked. "My dear John—"
He spat in her face. "It's Blaise to you."
The flames rose, their tongues desperately reaching towards the two. The walls caught their wild hunger, basking in the heat of the room.
Aemulus wiped the spit from her face, her dark hair a sea of coal that kindled the fire in her eyes.
"I see you've learned nothing." She spat. "Aren't you tired of repeating the same patterns, John?"
"Not if it means seeing you in chains again."
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warmups and excerpts
बेतरतीबA place where I put writing warmups and excerpts for stray ideas. Stick around if you so desire.
