Thursday, February 28, 2008

-runs and hides-
-sigh-
I shall now post what I have of Fay's death. Don't get your hopes up on how good it is. D:

His violet eyes: they were a window into the unknown, oblivion stretching far beyond the boundaries of one's conception. But they were full of pandemonium, lacking the energy and ambition that average beauty throws at the beholder. His life had become his hell.
Those eyes stared upwards, unfocused, on the pallid face that had been shattered like glass. It was his mask, easily morphed to conceal his heartache. Now that his life was draining away, it had become even more livid.
It appeared as if he was resting in a pool of ink: his hair was the only part of him that seemed alive.
Fay felt feverish, and he knew that the creaturewithin him had almost devoured its fill of the milky liquid that was once his soul. Nothing could be done about it, of course, but staring up at somber curtains in a grayscale room didn't satisfy him. He needed to stop Fenrir.
The room was soundless, the silence echoing throughout it. His withered form lay in the wisp of ashen light that weaved its way through the drapes. But there was a murmer that only Fay could hear deriving from the depths of his mind. Fenrir's woice was pleasant to listen to but there was a veiled tone of mockery in it. Otherwise: it was a poorly made replica of Fay's own voice, but still an acceptable resemblance to his long dead conscience.
Faint sirens wailed in the distance, and the voice in Fay's head gained a note of panic. "Fay... we have to get up NOW."
Fay's empty eyes flickered to the pocket of his shabby overcoat....
I'll finish when I write more. o.o Comment?
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