It's incomplete.
Jul. 30th, 2012 04:07 pm![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aguu"Instead of succumbing to the mist that would leave her a soulless husk, the queen looked at her intended one last time and set herself aflame--and from there, yggdrassil began to take root."
"He held fast and for the first time knew not what to do. She could not be lost, the Mother of..."
"...and at that moment the mist gathered round her ashen form, from where Yggdrassil was growing. He...and with one animalistic cry sliced open the tree and out stepped a child--what he had been seeking. God's favourite daughter."
"The mist crawled back--repelled by her, repelled by the black flowers that bloomed from her bare feet and her white dress splattered with chlorophyll. She was a child and he was a king looking at all that devoured his kingdom and realized it all had a name. Looking at her, he implored 'Will your God hear me?' She looked at him with empty, emotionless eyes and nodded. 'As long as I am the one who speaks...He will hear you.' "
'Before I do so however...you must give me a name. I cannot talk to Him without a name.'
The King held her in his arms and the mist left them alone completely, hissing in languages born when demons were young.
He gently whispered a name lost to time and crossed out of history with blood and ink.
'Arithaea.'
'That will do. Sanctus Espiritus, erithia matrios thyrium ecta divina...wisterios kian...Arithaea Caintelle Aberinthus Hyquina...xansem...'
It wasn't part of the demon tongue but he knew it anyway as a branch of Anglican. The ground quivered in anticipation as the girl he carried continued to pray. In a kingdom ravaged by dragons and mist, souls flung from demonic bodies a little child's prayer rang forth.
Then the screaming started.
The monsters within the Tower of Babylon regained their senses: light spilled out and from his fingertips the mist was illuminated, and its' source was...
Babylon growled and from his claws sprung blood and ichor as he looked around for any other survivors. He had not celebrated as much and his many hearts hammered in unison as he ran--and with each step the remains of the castle shook. It was far from the peaceful place he had grown up in, seen his parents in--and for the first time, he was afraid.
He heard the continuous prayer and began to answer it, his voice hoarse and scraped raw with the poisoned mead that had put him to sleep.
"Yithos juina lachrymos pothien verinia chitheros demonia grandeur sancti!" The mist was angry, he understood that much. The mist was going to have what it was denied a half-century ago, when it was imprisoned in the body of the moon that birthed confusion and solace. But he didn't have what the mist wanted and only the voice was keeping the mist from gathering around his body and devouring him whole.
In the distance he could see a small, shining light murmuring the prayer that had saved him. Arithaea said quietly, 'your child.'
The king almost dropped her in surprise, but she continued to pray, undeterred. The barrier that was forming on them started to move, to deter the mist and to purify it, almost. The soulless disappeared with a small pop, and turned into feathers, lying white across the grey floor.
'These aren't supposed to be here. Father said that this was long overdue...and that you have hidden me longer than necessary.'
"It was never a crime to hide you. It wasn't fair for your Father to take you from me." His hands were slipping but he forced himself to hold on -- hold on until he was able to reach Babylon and to end all of this, to take him home.
'Whether it is fair or not I leave to your conscience...' her eyes were slowly filling with deep purple liquid and her face took on a sweeter, solemn hue.
'Redeem us from our solemn hour.'
"Infinitia...I wouldn't have thought you would fall for that kind of thing." [said by someone without a shape or form...right now, anyway]
In the corner of her mind, Arithaea was reminded of tinsel halos and wings that were forcibly broken so that they could all learn to fly. Small, square rooms littered with blood and repainted silver walls stood out the most, and everyday there was nothing to occupy her but the waiting.
Pink-haired girls with eyes the color of dew examined her through the window of her small, square silver room. They twittered and threw spells that blinded and made her heart stop cold. Before she was taken out of the room for the very first time, she heard one of the girls call her 'Hueris.'
A scowl crossed Arithaea's face and she said out loud: 'Hueris Ethyrion Rythmos Xanxis.'
The king looked down at the girl and replied 'Oathia ich hubri hueris xanthiam frichta.'
"He held fast and for the first time knew not what to do. She could not be lost, the Mother of..."
"...and at that moment the mist gathered round her ashen form, from where Yggdrassil was growing. He...and with one animalistic cry sliced open the tree and out stepped a child--what he had been seeking. God's favourite daughter."
"The mist crawled back--repelled by her, repelled by the black flowers that bloomed from her bare feet and her white dress splattered with chlorophyll. She was a child and he was a king looking at all that devoured his kingdom and realized it all had a name. Looking at her, he implored 'Will your God hear me?' She looked at him with empty, emotionless eyes and nodded. 'As long as I am the one who speaks...He will hear you.' "
'Before I do so however...you must give me a name. I cannot talk to Him without a name.'
The King held her in his arms and the mist left them alone completely, hissing in languages born when demons were young.
He gently whispered a name lost to time and crossed out of history with blood and ink.
'Arithaea.'
'That will do. Sanctus Espiritus, erithia matrios thyrium ecta divina...wisterios kian...Arithaea Caintelle Aberinthus Hyquina...xansem...'
It wasn't part of the demon tongue but he knew it anyway as a branch of Anglican. The ground quivered in anticipation as the girl he carried continued to pray. In a kingdom ravaged by dragons and mist, souls flung from demonic bodies a little child's prayer rang forth.
Then the screaming started.
The monsters within the Tower of Babylon regained their senses: light spilled out and from his fingertips the mist was illuminated, and its' source was...
Babylon growled and from his claws sprung blood and ichor as he looked around for any other survivors. He had not celebrated as much and his many hearts hammered in unison as he ran--and with each step the remains of the castle shook. It was far from the peaceful place he had grown up in, seen his parents in--and for the first time, he was afraid.
He heard the continuous prayer and began to answer it, his voice hoarse and scraped raw with the poisoned mead that had put him to sleep.
"Yithos juina lachrymos pothien verinia chitheros demonia grandeur sancti!" The mist was angry, he understood that much. The mist was going to have what it was denied a half-century ago, when it was imprisoned in the body of the moon that birthed confusion and solace. But he didn't have what the mist wanted and only the voice was keeping the mist from gathering around his body and devouring him whole.
In the distance he could see a small, shining light murmuring the prayer that had saved him. Arithaea said quietly, 'your child.'
The king almost dropped her in surprise, but she continued to pray, undeterred. The barrier that was forming on them started to move, to deter the mist and to purify it, almost. The soulless disappeared with a small pop, and turned into feathers, lying white across the grey floor.
'These aren't supposed to be here. Father said that this was long overdue...and that you have hidden me longer than necessary.'
"It was never a crime to hide you. It wasn't fair for your Father to take you from me." His hands were slipping but he forced himself to hold on -- hold on until he was able to reach Babylon and to end all of this, to take him home.
'Whether it is fair or not I leave to your conscience...' her eyes were slowly filling with deep purple liquid and her face took on a sweeter, solemn hue.
'Redeem us from our solemn hour.'
"Infinitia...I wouldn't have thought you would fall for that kind of thing." [said by someone without a shape or form...right now, anyway]
In the corner of her mind, Arithaea was reminded of tinsel halos and wings that were forcibly broken so that they could all learn to fly. Small, square rooms littered with blood and repainted silver walls stood out the most, and everyday there was nothing to occupy her but the waiting.
Pink-haired girls with eyes the color of dew examined her through the window of her small, square silver room. They twittered and threw spells that blinded and made her heart stop cold. Before she was taken out of the room for the very first time, she heard one of the girls call her 'Hueris.'
A scowl crossed Arithaea's face and she said out loud: 'Hueris Ethyrion Rythmos Xanxis.'
The king looked down at the girl and replied 'Oathia ich hubri hueris xanthiam frichta.'
