whedonist

Part III

Strung between the first two columns my newest sculpture hangs, glorified for those lucky enough to see it. The whispers of this city at night make it hard to work. The people, the noise it all calls to me, asking that I release them. I drink and take from them.

Soon, perhaps, but not before I see the Council crumble. Not before I drink from the neck of those that have the hubris of a god.

I circle it once more, bringing me back to why I am here and who is with me. Running a nail down the length of her back, the skin splits, but does not bleed.

A shame really. Her cries would have been a balm to my frayed nerves. Instead, I settle on the look I’m given by him. Glorious and profound, I’ve loved telling him how none of this would have been possible without him.

I sigh under his touch and am centered.

The sun is about to rise and we need to be moving along so reluctantly, I pull away to finish the staging of my latest work of art. Loosening the rope of the pulley system holding her up, I hoist it just a tad higher; making sure that she will be noticed first.

Under her feet I place the objects of importance, the stake, the cross and the sword and for him, a slide of a single drop of blood.

Looking east, I see the first few hues of the sun rising in the sky. Quickly, I tie the rope and secure her. Grabbing his hand, we descend.

There is only one last task to complete her. A pity that it won’t be my hand responsible.