Luna?
Date Unknown
Time Unknown
Silence, and darkness enveloped James Steelheart as he slept, doubtlessly exhausted by the events of the previous days. The DAMON incursion had at last died down to a more manageable level, but that was not due to his continued participation - for as soon as the Queen had regained consciousness, she had confined him to his home, effectively under house arrest.
A soft beat - gentle drums, pattering on the edge of his vision.,. as a familiar, unmistakable voice began to speak.
It was just as it had been back then. All three of them, seated on the edge of that silvery pool in the dark depths, the only light the smoldering of ancient ceremonial torches. Simple white robes clothed their forms as tradition dictated, and the cloying scent of incense tickled his nose, leaving a faint mist that crawled from the surroundings.
Beside him sat Selene, her eyes straight ahead, dutiful as always, her features natural and hair trimmed short to her neck. The way they were made to sit, legs tucked beneath them, arms folded on their laps, was never comfortable... Yet, she always managed to make it look so easy.
And ahead, of course, was-
The form of Selene II, his mother, her back turned.
It was curious how even long after her passing, her features were still ingrained with such clarity into his memory - her voice from that day, like an echoed whisper on the wind. Only once had they ever been required to attend the ritual, when they were very young - yet the purpose of it had never been revealed to him.
Selene II's hand turned gentle circles in the air over the pool as she spoke the solemn prayer, drawing lines with a lit stick of incense that left trails in his sight after he blinked, turning lazy patterns. The bright light cast strange shadows on the walls of the caverns, through which veins of power stirred.
His sister was gone. When had she left? Perhaps as his attention had lapsed - but no, she was still there. He knew, because of the sudden sensation of a hand closing about his hair, gripping his head, turning it back and up, to look into Selene III's eyes.
A cold, sharp sensation, as something keen was run across his throat. Her eyes were cold, dark pools as she lifted the stained dagger and released her hold, its edges now decorated with his vital fluids... and he began to fall away. Hot wetness spread across the robes, through his throat, dying them crimson that weaved its way through the scenery as everything went dark.
Date Unknown
Time Unknown
Silence, and darkness enveloped James Steelheart as he slept, doubtlessly exhausted by the events of the previous days. The DAMON incursion had at last died down to a more manageable level, but that was not due to his continued participation - for as soon as the Queen had regained consciousness, she had confined him to his home, effectively under house arrest.
A soft beat - gentle drums, pattering on the edge of his vision.,. as a familiar, unmistakable voice began to speak.
"We are the scions of order,
Blessed are we, in faith and blood divine,
To lead the blind, the faithless through the dark,
Our lives a torch, our souls a flame."
Blessed are we, in faith and blood divine,
To lead the blind, the faithless through the dark,
Our lives a torch, our souls a flame."
Beside him sat Selene, her eyes straight ahead, dutiful as always, her features natural and hair trimmed short to her neck. The way they were made to sit, legs tucked beneath them, arms folded on their laps, was never comfortable... Yet, she always managed to make it look so easy.
And ahead, of course, was-
The form of Selene II, his mother, her back turned.
It was curious how even long after her passing, her features were still ingrained with such clarity into his memory - her voice from that day, like an echoed whisper on the wind. Only once had they ever been required to attend the ritual, when they were very young - yet the purpose of it had never been revealed to him.
"Around the spindle of possibility, our world is weaved,
An endless turning, an eternal recurrence,
From ash we were born, to ash we shall return."
An endless turning, an eternal recurrence,
From ash we were born, to ash we shall return."
"O' Luna, palace of the great and divine,
Precipice of power, monument to all that is true and noble,"
Precipice of power, monument to all that is true and noble,"
A cold, sharp sensation, as something keen was run across his throat. Her eyes were cold, dark pools as she lifted the stained dagger and released her hold, its edges now decorated with his vital fluids... and he began to fall away. Hot wetness spread across the robes, through his throat, dying them crimson that weaved its way through the scenery as everything went dark.