Clip My Wings, I'm No Angel // Blitz {Tom}
Jan 25, 2017 18:44:19 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on Jan 25, 2017 18:44:19 GMT -5
Kirito Miristioma
How can innocence be
bred from death?
bred from death?
A solemn storm shudders sadistically against the shutters sending droplets drastically dancing across the wooden boards. Luminescence only lingers from a single shaft of light woven into life by the wick of a candle. Particles of dusty demons drift within the draft of the enclosed environment while fingers flip through filed folders. Phantoms focus from the photos beneath the candle's caress. Names written in the weary ink of insidious red revolt against the plain parchment embodying the surreal sensation of their sin. Each face flickering within the flame of the room was a name burning against Snow, a name shifting through the soot of his satanic society. Each of them was a secret secluded in the shadows; the folders fly swiftly shut and vanish within the dust dwelling desk. Kirito escapes from his office and escapes from any more intellect of the insurgence he has been enlightened with. His feet let him take flight up the wooden steps of his stairs.
Step after step leaves him stiff in worry of any wavering whisper of noise which may arise from beneath him. The night is being driven into shadowed seclusion by the strength of the demanded dawn by the time he stands before his bedroom doors. With a silent stir smoke spins from the site of where the fire once flickered and the candle is set calmly upon its original holder. Kirito's fingers wrap with a slight shake around the chilling handles; he forces the secrecy from its sanctuary within his eyes, burying it beneath his skin. The doors draw open and he enters the room while thunder threatens its earthly opponent with a tremendous roar. Worry whips his eyes to the empty silken sheets. Where was she?
Running water lifts from bathroom and Kirito calms, yet even more so enters the large room with increased curiosity. Standing beside the sink seemingly ill as she has been the past week, Oasis stares towards her stomach's skin. Kirito gently draws closer to her side, his hands fall on her shoulders and he layers his lips into a kiss on her cheek from his place behind her. Meanwhile in his mind her symptoms spin and circulate like clockwork among his complex cranium. Dead ends are drawn and no answers are unveiled from his concise calculations, his need for tests grows stronger as his arms wrap around her waste softly as though he could provide her struggling stomach safety from its suffering.
Light leaps forth from the windows while lightning jolts from the sky. The war rages outside beyond the glass of the windows and the sheets of rain. Heavens hits the Earth with its weapons but the Earth does die nor does it falter, it just survives. Wyatt whispers through the windows and in each flash his knives burrow into Kirito's skin. Inside his chest Kirito can feel his heart growing corrupted by the cancer of his curse and his brain beaten by its brutality. He clentches his teeth and speaks out to a voice he knows can actually keep him clinging to the reality he is within. "Why are you up at such an awful hour? Is it your stomach again?" The questions are breezes for himself to handle but her voice is what he needs and her brain is not his own. He continues just as Wyatt concurs the casualty to send another knife deep beneath his skin with a shudder. "I can get you some medicine if you'd like. Its just down stairs."
Step after step leaves him stiff in worry of any wavering whisper of noise which may arise from beneath him. The night is being driven into shadowed seclusion by the strength of the demanded dawn by the time he stands before his bedroom doors. With a silent stir smoke spins from the site of where the fire once flickered and the candle is set calmly upon its original holder. Kirito's fingers wrap with a slight shake around the chilling handles; he forces the secrecy from its sanctuary within his eyes, burying it beneath his skin. The doors draw open and he enters the room while thunder threatens its earthly opponent with a tremendous roar. Worry whips his eyes to the empty silken sheets. Where was she?
Running water lifts from bathroom and Kirito calms, yet even more so enters the large room with increased curiosity. Standing beside the sink seemingly ill as she has been the past week, Oasis stares towards her stomach's skin. Kirito gently draws closer to her side, his hands fall on her shoulders and he layers his lips into a kiss on her cheek from his place behind her. Meanwhile in his mind her symptoms spin and circulate like clockwork among his complex cranium. Dead ends are drawn and no answers are unveiled from his concise calculations, his need for tests grows stronger as his arms wrap around her waste softly as though he could provide her struggling stomach safety from its suffering.
Light leaps forth from the windows while lightning jolts from the sky. The war rages outside beyond the glass of the windows and the sheets of rain. Heavens hits the Earth with its weapons but the Earth does die nor does it falter, it just survives. Wyatt whispers through the windows and in each flash his knives burrow into Kirito's skin. Inside his chest Kirito can feel his heart growing corrupted by the cancer of his curse and his brain beaten by its brutality. He clentches his teeth and speaks out to a voice he knows can actually keep him clinging to the reality he is within. "Why are you up at such an awful hour? Is it your stomach again?" The questions are breezes for himself to handle but her voice is what he needs and her brain is not his own. He continues just as Wyatt concurs the casualty to send another knife deep beneath his skin with a shudder. "I can get you some medicine if you'd like. Its just down stairs."
