He wouldn't have turned so immediately on them if they hadn't been so clearly wrong in this place--more than just holes bored through the warmth of Whitestone, he now recognizes them as pests, as ticks, as parasites. Queens to a nest.
It's far too late to try and dodge. The bolt lances straight through his lungs and pierces his heart, and the needle-frost that grows there punctures both in an instant, stealing away his scream. He drops out of the air with a dull, nauseating crack when he hits the stone. The sound of his neck snapping echoes through his skull, a feeling as familiar as
RINNG
( the sound coming at him like a train, )
RINNG
( he wakes up )
RINNG
( not to the poppies, )
RINNG
... but to a castle he once knew, on a winter evening, the main dining hall bright with banners and evergreen boughs and countless lit candles. Lord Frederick and Lady Johanna are seated at the high table, with all seven children in their best clothes, and a few of the higher-ranked members of their court. Chancellor Archibald Desnay and Professor Byron Anders are further down the way. (Something's wrong.)
And also at the table, smiling and talking animatedly with their hosts, are two strangers; two guests. The Lord and Lady Briarwood. The woman's velvety laughter rises at something Julius has said, as a liveried serving man circles around her to pour wine, and all the candles on the table flicker as though in a chill wind.
Phil has the table in a white-knuckled grip, staring straight ahead at nothing at all.
cw death
It's far too late to try and dodge. The bolt lances straight through his lungs and pierces his heart, and the needle-frost that grows there punctures both in an instant, stealing away his scream. He drops out of the air with a dull, nauseating crack when he hits the stone. The sound of his neck snapping echoes through his skull, a feeling as familiar as
RINNG
( not to the poppies, )
RINNG
... but to a castle he once knew, on a winter evening, the main dining hall bright with banners and evergreen boughs and countless lit candles. Lord Frederick and Lady Johanna are seated at the high table, with all seven children in their best clothes, and a few of the higher-ranked members of their court. Chancellor Archibald Desnay and Professor Byron Anders are further down the way. (Something's wrong.)
And also at the table, smiling and talking animatedly with their hosts, are two strangers; two guests. The Lord and Lady Briarwood. The woman's velvety laughter rises at something Julius has said, as a liveried serving man circles around her to pour wine, and all the candles on the table flicker as though in a chill wind.
Phil has the table in a white-knuckled grip, staring straight ahead at nothing at all.