Savage Divinity

Total Word Count: 48174



Assuming much. There was too much open to interpretation open to the senses. Aron hated it. He could feel Asher beside him, but he only knew it was Asher because of the other\'s voice. It could have been anyone else had they been gagged so speech was impossible. He wouldn\'t have found the comfort he did then, in snuggling up to the other, being close, in being in physical contact. It was comforting, being near someone familiar in strange surroundings.

The world had been narrowed down to slivers of perception. Sound, smell…sight was impossible because of the blindfold, and touch was limited to what he could reach, but…

The door – assumed it was a door – had opened, and brought in the flavored wind. It was a breeze Aron thought of as blue, chilled to the core. It was freezing. Footsteps – sound. He could hear them, coming in around in that circle that was not quite so circular as it might have first appeared.

"They\'re awake." It was one of those voices. One of those ones belonging to the creatures that were not angel, not demon. Other, he thought he\'d heard them called. Other. A fitting title. Not one, not anything, but something else entirely. Something so different that it was alien and foreign to everything. No comparison basis for such a creature, such a specimen. It was Other. A good name.

"Yes, we are." That was Asher\'s voice, coming hard on the heals of the almost accusation. Yes, they were awake. Yes, they could hear, were breathing, could feel. Back off, the younger of the two Angel-stock seemed to be saying without his words. Get away, and stay there. We don\'t need you.

"What do you want?" Aron asked tiredly. He was tired. Tired of being manhandled in ways that left him uncomfortable and sore. Tired of being dragged from place to place while his world remained black under the blindfold that had been given to him – used to cover his face and his senses. He hated not being able to see. It was the most obnoxious thing ever. Not being able to see – it was a freedom taken away, a freedom lost that he missed more than words could explain.

"We want nothing." The same script, repeated over and over, each time they came in. Each time they came with the intent of moving the Angel-stock.

"You always want something," Asher shot back. Aron wished he could have warned the other boy to still his tongue. It wasn\'t wise to provoke the hand that could beat them. Or in this case, hands. It was actually quite a poor idea.

"Be still. That\'s all we want." Another voice, a smoother voice, but it wasn\'t the voice that Aron knew belonged to their stranger. He knew the stranger\'s voice all too well. He knew the threats that came from it, mixed with the haunting indifference. But this was not their stranger\'s voice. This voice was cultured, suave…but it still had the ring of Other about it.

"Who are you?" Asher again. How he longed to still the boy\'s tongue, make him be silent. There were many questions to be asked, many acquisitions to be made, but they were best kept in stillness and silence until the opportune moment. Being like this was not something he enjoyed. Not something anyone in their right minds would have enjoyed. He was helpless – and it was killing him.

Maybe Asher didn\'t mind so much – maybe that was why the younger male insisted in shooting his mouth off at regular intervals. Perhaps Asher, with his ashen hair, gained a sort of mingled pleasure and dread mixture out of provocation. Aron wouldn\'t put it past him. After what they\'d been through, the adrenaline rush coming from near death experiences had become a near high. It was a rush that he almost feared, though his body craved it at the same time.

Addicted to the influx of pain-killer, that was what he had become. Addict.

"I am the Other," came that suave voice, answering the question. Aron was surprised. Usually they cuffed offenders, not answered them. "I am here to tell you something." Then silence.

"What?" Asher prompted.

Aron could have strangled him.

"Milord is marshiling an army." Aron had no trouble figuring out who \'milord\' was – the stranger, their stranger. "He is intent on building it with the best commanders. He has inquired of you two – will you serve as Commanders? Generals?"

Aron\'s mouth went slack. Commander? He barely knows us! Is this the reason then that he saved us? Did he know a war was coming? "Why us?" the chestnut haired male asked, trying to keep his dry voice from cracking under the strain of emotion. "Why us and not one of you?"

That earned him a bark of laughter. "You think milord would trust one of us with his armies? You must be joking! Milord asks only for the best to lead, the best to command. He wishes for us to be fodder to the armies. We are worthless outside of errand runners and occasionally…very occasionally mind – advisors. We have no skill of battle; it was not bred into us. So, the question stands – will you serve milord? Will you command his armies?"

Next to him, Aron could feel Asher\'s immediate agreement. The best for the best. The young Commander had been quite rudely stripped of his post after all, what with being kidnapped by the Vilyte and all. It was time the ashen haired male took up his post once more. Aron, for his part, felt that perhaps it was a bit odd to be offered such a posting when they\'d barely been in the area for longer than a few months…and thereby didn\'t know the layout – but he nodded as well, feeling Asher\'s eagerness. And if he cared to admit it to himself (which he didn\'t) he was just as eager.

He wanted to prove himself. And if doing that was here, on a field of battle so far away from his homeland he might as well have been in another world, then so be it. He would do it. "We will," Aron gave his consent.

"Good." There was pleasure in that voice. Suave still, but relief mixed in as if they were doing the creature a favor, rather than its master doing them one. "I will remove your blindfolds now. It is dark though, so you still won\'t see anything."

"Fine." Asher was overeager. "Fine – just take them off, please."

"Hold still."

Aron felt Asher freeze next to him, and he did as well. Hands were at the back of his head, fiddling with the ties in the darkness that he presumed was around them. Slowly it worked loose. He wondered briefly why they had kept them blindfolded in this place if they\'d meant to offer them positions as commanders…

It was a tactical strategy, his mind supplied at once. If they kept you in the dark – quite literally, as well as figuratively –they could figure out what to do with you. Then, when the time was right (assuming it was at all, and you never know) they could offer what they needed to. What they wanted to. It was less pressure on them…and more on you. If you wanted to be able to see, you would have to agree to serve. Aron commended them mentally for brilliant strategy in their movements. It was a brilliant plan of action, if he did think so himself.

"There."

The blindfolds fell away. Asher he could feel moving next to him. Aron twisted, his eyes blinking over and over. It was still dark. He felt as if blinded and for a moment panicked.

"Hold still," came the smooth voice. "It\'ll be all right. I just need to begin to reintroduce your eyes to light. It\'s been a while."

One could say that," Aron thought to himself. One could say it had been a very long time. Though, to be true to himself, he\'d lost track of time. He had no idea how long they had been senseless in the realms of sight, or how long their movements had been restricted to a corner.

"Will you take the bindings off as well?" Asher inquired hopefully.

Aron nodded, quite forgetting that it would be next to impossible to see in the dark.

"Yes, yes, we will," the reassurance came. "But one thing at a time. Squint your eyes please. We\'re bringing the setting up."

Aron did so, hoping Asher was obeying as well. It wouldn\'t do for only one of them to follow a command if both of them were required. Together they would lead this army. They could do it – prove their worth and then perhaps escape the dungeon like room forever. It was worth a try, at any rate.

The room slowly began to light. It was almost impossible to see the difference at first. Aron had to blink as shapes began to form in his vision. It was a slow process, transitioning from perfect darkness to light. The settings of light adjusted upward slowly, bringing him into a dull hazy state. He blinked a few times. The excess light hurt his eyes. He was unaccustomed to it.

"Too much?"

"Yes…please turn it back down."

The setting jumped down a pace. It was again near dark, and he could see the barest outlines. His eyes felt odd though, as if they were working overtime to compensate. He could see movements, motions. The Others were there with them, he realized. It was a bit of a comforting thought, that they were being watched over by the Others. Comfortable as it could be that these creatures were in charge of them, watching over them, in control of their lives. Annoying, a bit disturbing, but other than that…

"That\'s it for today then?" Asher asked hopefully.

"No. We have to bring you up to full light today," the voice replied, a bit impatiently. Aron closed his eyes. Full light. That just sounded painful.

"I have an idea," he said quietly. "If we keep our eyes shut, the light will still penetrate, but it won\'t hurt as badly. If you jump it up a few settings, we can adjust with closed eyes, and then open them. It\'ll still hurt," he warned Asher, "but it will make this go faster." And he felt the urgency behind the Other. Somehow this thing needed to be done soon. It would go better if they took care of it now.

The Other – he could see it nod dimly in the light that wasn\'t quite. "That will work then. If you would?"

Aron nodded and closed his eyes. "Asher –"

"Yes," the youth replied, as a confirmation that his eyes were closed too. Then the light began to build outside their world. He could feel it. It seeped into his very core. It grew warmer in the room too, as if the light being withheld had held back heat as well. It was a strange feeling, but a welcome one.

Aron twisted his eyes within his eye sockets, seeking to escape the slowly growing brightness. He could hear Asher whimpering next to him. "Is that the highest setting?" he asked desperately.

There was a disparaging chuckle. "Of course not."

Curses…if that\'s not the highest - He broke his eyes open, and nearly screamed from the pain of the light flooding his eyes, forcing his pupil to contract so swiftly. It was painful! His eyes snapped back shut. Slowly the light began to fade back down to something more comfortable. Next to him, he could no longer feel Asher. Afraid now, Aron forced his eyes open when groping the air showed nothing. There was no presence next to him. Where was the other Angel-stock? He had to wonder, had to know.

"Asher!"

"I\'m here…" Asher\'s voice was soft, hurting. It was a murmur in the patterns of the air, just small enough to move the currents to carry his words. "Here –"

Aron bit down on his lip. "Asher, I\'m here too. Come here, come to me –" He wanted the comfort of the other one nearer him. He forced his eyes open, held them there, burning and dripping with tears. Asher was on the other side of the room, curled up, facing the walls. Smooth walls – there really weren\'t corners here. It was a huge sphere, carved into the rock and smoothed out, like a womb to be reborn from. The light came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Where is the light coming from? he had to wonder. There was nothing –

"Asher, come here," he begged, trying in vain to move. His ankles were frozen, unable to move.

"Hold still for a moment," the Other commanded. Its outline moved into his vision, blurring, making his eyes cry out in happiness at being prevented from seeing for a glorious half moment. Then he could see again, and he was in agony once more, twisting his mind and body in circles, trying to escape the pain. It hurt, by God! Pain.



"How are they taking the adjustment?" Lucifer inquired, lifting a glass to his lips and sipping lightly at the pale sapphire liquid within. He swirled the alcoholic beverage on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. His pupils were contracted in spite of the darkness. It gave him an odd, forbidding look.

"They are having troubles," the Other admitted. "The older one is consoling the younger at present." So the chestnut haired was taking care of the ashen one. Well, that would work well enough.

"I assume they\'ve taken the bait, then? Since you released them?" He had to check, just to be sure. The Others did things quite stupidly on occasion, after all.

A quick nod of its head satisfied him. "As always, milord," the Other assured him. "As always, we stick to what you tell us to do."

As almost always, Lucifer amended in his head, but refrained from speaking the accusation aloud. It was counterproductive to say it out loud anyway. He merely nodded in agreement – partial agreement if the dissention in his mind was anything to go by – and stood. The wineglass in his hand he lifted once more, draining the last of the pale blue tinged liquid and then tossed it in the air, watching in amusement as the Other scrambled after it, hands upraised to catch the precious crystal object before it could shatter on the floor.

It did catch it – nearly always did – and then it bowed and left, still bowing.

Lucifer chuckled slightly. Amusing, as always. But there were more pressing matters than pure amusement. There was the matter of the armies that he was building. He needed them to be completely ready. It was time to take a trip out to the armory, and to check up with the weapons masters. He needed his army to be completely ready for when the Angel-stock generals took to the helm, ready to lead his people against the invaders from Heaven.

Still laughing at his own plan, and the remarkable ease with which he had set it into motion, the ruler of the Underworld made his way down the halls of Hell himself, followed by the Other, trailing faithfully at his heels.

The halls were remarkably empty given the time of day. It would have surprised him, if he had not given explicit orders for all inhabitants of Hell remotely able to use a weapon to report to the armory at the given times. As it was, he expected quite a large turnout and was not disappointed when he reached his destination.



The armory was a huge building, created out of wood – the only building made out of wood in the whole of the Underworld, in fact. It was built with care to the manner of things and all things were storage friendly that were kept inside it. He covered his head and hair with the hood that was hanging limply from the back of his leather vest, tucking in all loose ends. The armory was damp with sweat in the air, and heavy panting from so many beings wedged into one place.

The ugly creature at the front of the building, standing on what might have once been a table, was emaciated and pale, with blotched blue and green skin. Lucifer took a standing position at the back of the room, watching. He knew the dead souls that inhabited his realm by their very look. He knew this one too. A pretty enough name for the fellow, he supposed, but really, it was the sheer power of speech he was after, not any other method of persuasion. If this one could have enlisted thousands of countrymen for a killing spree of the most innocent while alive, it would be the work of a sleepwalker to enlist hundreds for the same purpose…only this time with more purpose.

The crowd started grumbling to themselves as the speaker touched on the things they feared most. The takeover of the Heavenly forces. The usurping of power. The \'purifying\' rites that bore sick resemblance to another rite of supposed \'purification\' that had once been used to exterminate an entire population…

Lucifer smiled to himself throughout it. He watched. He listened. He took careful note of what was said; it would hardly do to be counter to what was said, after all. The inspiration wouldn\'t hold quite so well. But what he enjoyed most was when the two angels he\'d kept imprisioned were brought in, heads held high and the speaker proclaimed that these two were converts, come to lead the forces of the Underworld against those who would destroy it.

Oh how the armory rocked with screams and cries then! Lucifer laughed amidst the chaos. They were riled up, ready for spilling blood, ready for feasting and fighting and murder without care. Here were fighters that would gladly put themselves out on the field of battle and run up an enemy\'s pike, just to take his head off! These would not fight according to the rules that had been laid down for such combat – these were individuals making up an army that would fight to win, and all other rules be damned.

Lucifer watched. Lucifer listened. And above them all, Lucifer laughed. Had Heaven chosen a poor time to attack, or had they? He believed, and he guessed that all others did as well, that they had.

And the Angel-stock still did not know what they were leading his army against. That they would be on the opposite side of the field of their kin. The idea was positively adoring. He smirked and licked his lips. Wouldn\'t Reson have loved to have seen it?

But Reson was in his rooms, locked up, carefully watched by Lucifer\'s ever faithful personal attendant. Just one Other to keep the un-angel from attempting to kill himself. The Devil had seen the light of sinful promise in the un-angel\'s eyes. He did not plan on giving Reson a chance to fulfill that promise. He wanted to keep the redhead at his side for as long as possible, to feast on his submission and to remind himself that he had conquered one of the children of Heaven.

That was all that he really needed.

A conquered child of Heaven.



"What were you saying again?" Reson asked. He had blanked out again, as he had been doing so frequently. His motions were slow, his voice lowered, his spirits dull. The Other had been speaking to him, but he couldn\'t recall exactly what had been said.

The Other cleared its throat. "I was asking you about yourself," it replied patiently. "I asked you what you thought of living here. Permanently." The emphasis was on the last word.

Reson swallowed. His body shook slightly. "I don’t want to stay here," he whispered. His sides convulsed, remembering the touch that had brought him to this fate. Why had he given in again? "I don\'t want to stay with him."

"Be fair." The Other was impatient sounding, though Reson knew it was just the way it usually sounded. "Milord takes good care of you. Milord – for lack of a better word, you understand – cares about how you are doing. He left me here to watch you."

Left you here to keep me alive, you mean, Reson muttered rebelliously inside. It\'s not that he cares – it\'s that he doesn\'t want to lose a prize he\'s gained. I\'m a trophy. I\'m something to be showed off to his pride, to be able to say \'I\'ve conquered something that was not born to be unmade.\' That\'s all I am any more. He doesn’t \'care\' about me at all.

Or if he did, it was the way one cared for objects and material possessions. He had no life or identity of his own.

"Then what?"

The Other sounded reproving as it repeated its other words. "I asked you why you do not call him Milord. It is…distasteful for you to call him by his name."

Lucifer. That was what the Other meant. I don\'t recall ever calling him Lucifer, Reson thought. He sent his memory back. He\'d screamed at the strange being, called Lucifer \'the Devil,\' had called him \'blasphemy,\' had even called him \'Hell spawn,\' but he could not recall ever using the name that had been assigned when the Devil had been an angel of the Arc. "He\'s not my lord," Reson replied. His voice was firmer, steadier in its answer than it had been before. Here was something he was totally convinced of. Lucifer was not, and never had been, his lord in anything.

"You might want to rethink that," the Other advised. "He doesn\'t take kindly to being called by his first name."

Reson shrugged, then paused. "He asks you to call him Lucifer," the redhead protested. "So why would he care if I do it?" Not that he was planning on it, but still…if there was taboo against it, why then would the devilish creature invite his inferiors to use the name?

"He says what he does not mean," the Other replied simply. As if that was all there was to it. As if it didn\'t make a difference. "He will ask you to take your time with a thing when he means to hurry. He will tell you to be swift when there is need for careful deliberation." The Other shrugged. "It is his way. That is who milord is."

Unspoken the words hung there – the accusation that Reson should have learned who Lucifer was before he \'accepted\' his position. As if I had a choice in the matter.

"Think over it before you address him again," the Other advised. "It hurts the rest of us when milord is in a foul temper."

But he\'s not my lord in any way, Reson wanted to protest. He isn\'t my anything beyond perhaps my captor, and that is hardly a recommendation for promotion. I didn\'t want anything to do with him… And I gave myself over anyway. There was the crux of the matter – the fine print and point where there should have been none. He had given himself up, thinking it was for the good of someone else, after being so tired of life that he could no longer stand it.

And now… This is where I am. Courtesan, or nearly, of the Devil himself! Slave – or below – of the ruler of the Underworld, the King of Hell. So many things he could be called, so many ways he could be named… But there is only one that befits him as no other does, and that is the name I will never speak aloud. It is a name for ceremony and fear and hatred only. He inspires none of those within me – I will not allow it. I will not let myself fear him, I cannot bring myself to hate him. Despise, yes, and loathe, but hatred is a measure beyond which I am capable.

It was so the redhead had decided. It was not who he would choose to be. What he would choose to be. If the Devil insisted upon securing him as a trophy of sorts, then he would be that trophy, and Lucifer would just damn well have to deal with the garnishes accompanying him. He would be himself –or as close as possible – and things would go from there. If they went well, then perhaps he would abandon the hope of escaping through sin, the redeeming possibility of ending his own life to fix a mistake he had made.

But if it didn\'t go well, then he most certainly would be hunting out stray shards of glass or metal or whatever else could hold a sharp edge. It was with grim purpose then, that Reson focused his eyes forward, locking them on the Other\'s gaze and holding it.

"Tell me," he begged, knowing as he did so that even needing to know was a sign of weakness on his part – "Tell me, was he always like this?"

"Like what?" the Other asked back. Its voice was devoid of inflection; it was impossible for Reson to know exactly what the Other was thinking based on its voice.

"Tell me – was he always so cold, so warm… Has he always been made of opposites?" Why it mattered, Reson wasn\'t exactly sure. He was curious, yes, but there had to be another reason for his questioning beyond mere curiosity. There needed to be a motive that was purer – something he could use as reason. Something like…love, or hate, or will power. But he had none of those. Certainly not love for the creature. He had already forsaken the emotion of hate. And his will would not stretch to cover such a situation, strange as it might have seemed.

"He was always himself," the Other answered, rather cryptically in Reson\'s opinion. "He has always been made of the silver and the gold, the new and the old. He has always been a question in the minds of those who serve him, and mostly likely always will be, except for those so disillusioned as you are."

Reson shook his head. The discussion was taking him nowhere. "What about this war then," he asked, trying to steer the topic to newer waters that he could navigate with more ease. "Tell me about it, please."

"What do you want to know?" the Other inquired. "There is much that can be said on the topic. Simply pick a starting place for me, and I shall go on for as long as you show interest."

Where to start? Reson pondered for a moment. Then he chose the question he guessed unanswerable. "Why?"

"Why?" the Other echoed.

"Yes," Reson confirmed. "I want to know why."

"Why what?"

That set him off for a beat. Why what, what?

"The why of what aspect of this war?" the Other asked, changing its wording slightly in order to better aid Reson\'s understanding of the topic.

"Oh…" He paused. He hadn\'t thought beyond the immediate question. \'Why is this happening?´ might be considered the best question he really could ask, but that wasn\'t what he was truly interested in. Why this was happening was of little consequence in the long run. What he really wanted to know was why Lucifer was reacting the way he was – why the Devil seemed to be frightened, or nearly, by the development, and why there had been a sudden influx of information to the ruler of the Underworld… Why he had been privy to it as well.

Why there had been people coming in and out of Lucifer\'s chambers with paper and pens and ink and all sorts of weaponry that seemed to be one of a kind. Why there were people lining the streets outside his windows, all heading towards a single building, their broken, choppy steps in rhythm to a drum that was always playing now. Why? He wanted to know, but where to ask from?

In the end, Reson just shook his head and closed his mouth. There were too many questions, too many possibilities. He wanted to know, but at the same time, he feared disillusionment. There were some things that a being was not meant to understand, as he understood it. There were some mysteries that were meant to be kept mysterious for protection. If he broke that circle, the way Aron had broken the circle when they had been back up in Heaven – how he missed Heaven! – then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Like if God had kept things secret for a reason. There had to be a reason. There always had to be. It was the rule of life, or so Reson had decided, however subconscious the decision had been. He needed reason, needed order.

This place, it just couldn’t give it to him.

The redhead stood up, moved over to one of the walls, leaning against it. The stone was cool against his skin. He rubbed open palms against it, staring at the smooth surface. He felt like crying. Where was Lucifer when he needed him most? Needed to rail at the ruler of the Underworld, needed to scream and threaten and generally be in a terrible mood. There was no outlet for his emotional turmoil. Had the Devil arranged it to be that way?

"Where is he?" Reson asked. His voice was soft.

The Other took a moment to answer. It was such a silence, that Reson glanced up, wondering if he had even been heard. He had been, and then he wondered if the Other was contemplating simply not telling him the Devil\'s whereabouts. "He is down in the armory," the Other said after the silence. "He is talking."

And that was all the Other would say on the subject, no matter how much Reson prodded him for details and answers. Finally, the redhead gave up on discovering more and simply sat, his back flush against the cool walls. The stone seemed permanently chilled – it never absorbed heat to radiate it back, only took it to take, like this place. This place seemed to be absorbing Reson\'s very being – he thought he could feel it, slowly sapping his energy and strength, and turning him into something he wasn\'t.

Something he hoped he wasn\'t.

A coward. A fighter without heart. Someone not worth forgiving.



"These are your troops."

Aron and Asher stood side by side, attired in the same black leather that outfitted Lucifer. He carried his own with a bearing that they attempted to emulate. Aron with more success than Asher. There was just a certain royal being to Aron that was lacking in the younger Angel-stock. Lucifer noted it in the back of his head and smiled to himself. It was the little details that made Commanders and Generals. Little things that he had to keep track of.

It was painfully obvious that despite bearing, it was Asher who had the greater experience with commanding, however. It proved quite a nuisance to Lucifer, who had been prepared to turn over management of the entire army simply to the elder Angel-stock. Faced with a bit of dent in his plans, the Devil found himself improvising, changing things around. The divisions switched from four-bearing to six, and switched a few of the front riders with pike and pole arm as well. It was just the little thing.

Little details. Just as they could make or break a commander or General, they could too make or break his army.

Once the details had been attended to, Lucifer sat back for the first time, admiring the way the Commanders were taking charge. Perhaps Aron knew less about what he was doing, but he spoke better than Asher did. The two of them functioned as a team, speaking with a virile force of life that had the ruler of the Underworld eager for more of their words.

The sheer force of life coming off of them was contagious, infectious, making its way into the crowd that had been created for them to inspire. It was awesome to watch.

Lucifer felt he should be on his feet cheering them when the crowd was, but he remained sitting, forcing himself into a more delicate, attached, reserved frame of mind. He was ready for just about anything Heaven could throw at them. He just needed to be sure that his Commanders were as well…at least until they had their first shock of seeing angelic troops being slaughtered by the soldiers they had been sworn in to command.

He smirked, hiding the expression in his gloved hand in case someone was thinking to be watching him. He didn\'t need talk to circulate that could damage what he was trying to build. He needed only a few victories to send the Heaven-sent troops scurrying home. He knew he could achieve them with the Commanders born and bred of Heaven themselves.

They would know the tactics the Commanders of Heaven were likely to use, and because of that knowledge, would automatically assume that all fighters would think the same, and thusly use tactics invented to counter Heaven based tactics. It was a brilliant strategy. Now all he wanted to do was see them facing off across a field shaded red and brown.

Not that it would really happen that way, because of course, there were no fields of any sort in his city-like residence. There were only rooms, rooms and more rooms, occasionally interconnected with road-like halls that expanded across the whole of the city. It was an interesting place, Hell. Fraught with dangers for the faint of heart, and special privileges for those who knew what they were up against.

"We will win! We shall succeed!" Those were the final words of the Angel-stock, bringing rousing choruses of howling yells echoing across the foundations. Lucifer nodded to himself, satisfied and stood. Heaven wouldn\'t know what had hit them. The ones they were coming to rescue…

Preventing their own rescue.



There is something to be said for those who can speak to the masses and be heard. There is something to be said about them, but do not ask me what it is; I do not know. Nor do I care, when it comes down to it. I see it, and I hear it, but I do not comprehend it. This is a language of its own. I used to speak it, once, but then my voice was taken away. I lost it to the air, and the words that had once come so easily failed me. But no matter. It doesn’t make a difference any more anyway. I don\'t need words to seek a finish, to find an excuse. My words will come to me in time again, I think, but not the way they would have dreamed. My words will come to me in my dreams, fraught with fear and nightmarings. They will reach out to me, tangle around me, and ask me how I am today.

I shall be waiting for them then. My words… They shall return to me, though they might not even know they\'ve left me. How frightening a thing; to have something gone that hardly knew it had vanished.