Chapter Text
He writes on the walls, but can never make sense of what or why.
In his own realm, in his own torture. Long passed on, to a new name and new face. He had long forgotten his name, of who he was. Even now, in this dimly lit room which he can never leave, he wonders.
He chose his new name, forged his new identity. Like a metal in a burning flame. A flame which he is afraid of.
His face is concealed, covered by a golden mask. A mask that carves a new face, etching in a more peaceful expression than one he feels. His skin has been scorched to black as coal, burnt of what pigment he had. Thin to the bone, ribcage can easily be seen.
He dips his fingers in the melted candle wax, writing the name on the wall once more. A name he feels he may have known at one point, but can't put the name to the face. A sign that he is just as lonely of a creature as he was in life, when he wasn't always this judge. He lifts his finger from the drywall, his index finger burnt from the wax. He reads the name and once more tries to make sense of it: Ivanna.
The name makes his spine tingle and his stomach flutter, a glimpse of a memory flies past him before he has time to make sense of it. His eyes close, tearing down the paint and fresh wax, turning away from his failed attempt to recollect.
This room, in some way or another, was significant to his life. Whether this was the room he was born in or died in, he would never know. He pushed these thoughts of his mind, straightening himself. Whoever he was, he is not now. Now, he held his own duties. As Xerces, the judge of lost or passing souls.