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The cracks in this place rolling up the walls spidery through the smooth marble, Things that are ageless, must die in other fashions. And though this building stands the test of time, it get's cracks and also fire. Several times people have attempted to burn it down. There are quite a number of legends surrounding it now, but still it stands. You can still smell the smoke in the air if you're the sensitive type. The smell old and yellowed, with a hint of danger, of the fire possibly returning for what it could not get.. And also the smell of abandonment, this place was left for a long time. Hundreds of years. The people decided it did not qualify as a true church of the Catholics. It had too many strange artifacts in its making that did not quite fit. Decorative skulls in the floor to make one ponder death instead of the afterlife and other things. So it was left to it's own devices. But recently picked up again, peoples interest grew and once again people are standing in it's giant archways. For people cannot stay away from a thing forever. They wanted some of that new oldness back.
A warm light, hear it come on through the wires, flickering in and out as if it would fail sometime. Each of these little things, filled their souls, Hannibal and WIlls. As if it represented them perfectly at the moment.
They need not say a thing to each other. As they had grown accustomed to each other the need to talk started to die down. More and more one would give a nod and the other turn and look and they'd both know what that meant. At times when others chatted in coffee shops, they could just sit and look into each other for what could be hours. What when a expression is all that is needed, then everything else is just wasted space.
How to understand these two people. For one, understand this, time moves mysteriously, not straight forward. For most a year is a year, but sometimes a single year can stretch on as if it were ten, twenty, or even a hundred years. For some it works that way. So is it with them. They stretched out on the timeline, though technically nothing had changed. They were still human. But even the sound of their hearts sounded different to their ears then other men and women. Like it wasn't even coming from within them at all, but from the buildings and cities instead. From everywhere out to in, rather than in to out.
And in a way, they took over the world that summer. Made it fresh and exciting, played with the rules of the people, such dumb rules. And of course, they killed. Blood scarlet seeping on the floors of bathroom and scarlet red and turning to black their souls as well. It was tremendously ugly to any outsider. The truth of it was so terribly painful that everyone who saw made sure to close their eyes and said nothing about it. The sounds of writhing, and twists howls of crying out to them, to anyone for some kind of mercy. But they were the sort of immortal gentlemen that smiled through it. Who reminded the poor soul before them, that if there was a god, then why were they there?
Being ageless, one sees all in front of them in a moment. And it is wretched and beautiful.