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There are faces in the wall. Some scrunched in rage, others posed with fear. None bear even a relative grin. The knight beside you cannot make sense of your visions – she blames it on too much wine. But you see it, hidden in the stone’s patterning. The anthem of this rotten empire. Its pride is what brings the two of you to this glimmering hall tonight.
Burgundy met your tongue once more, rolling like smooth velvet. It’s nigh metallic scent reminiscent of times when blood once did the same. Unwavering steel danced over corrupted flesh in a grand spiritual battle all while their essence snuck past your lips. Life was simple then, at least for you and your steadfast companion. Few challenges and even fewer risks.
Until word reached your realm of invaders who sought your country and each between, all in the name of prosperity and betterment. You were the first operative unit’s sole survivor – all eleven others perished among conquest and political games. You met your knight shortly after that widowing, journeying over mountains and rivers with a retaliatory goal of your own.
Purple hair vanished as the ceremony commenced, each performer finding their position. Acheron was naught but a shadow along the mezzanine as the king began his speech. You rested docile in the gathering of courtiers, glass in hand and expression satisfied. He spun stories of victory; of a greater, moral society filled with riches.
Your advancing steps blended in amongst his strong voice and the guests hypnotic whispers. His drivel seemed endless, each stretch of red to his throne like a string of fate. His conclusion came and went, his attention instead focused on arrogance and belittlement. The simmering horseman of vengeance roared through your veins seeking violent relief.
Flashes of violet streaked over the mezzanine as crimson splattered the walls. The sickened herald of revenge became fed as your excessive attire was ruined. The king’s head fell first, a beat within the crowd’s melodic shrieks. Her blade cut like a wisp, the graceful antithesis to your roguish methods. In a near instant, the first step of your goal was finished.
Acheron’s icy hand reached for yours among the sea of death, soothing its heated shake. Effortlessly, she guided you through windows and halls; passageways known and secret. The night sky had never felt so freeing, so welcoming and lovely. A miniscule grin cracked over your lips, meeting hardened iris eyes. For an expression so foreign, in an environment still dangerous, her matching smile could have razed your heart to pieces.