Spring 1, 512 av.
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
The sun had not yet come up.
Mortar and wood shuddered, wrapped him on all sides, pushed on his chest, and suffocated him. He’d woken in his bed, in darkness, and in pain. Oh, the pain. Petch, he growled low in his throat, a choking plea that had meant to be a call for help—for Sitkanis, for Veldrys, for someone, dead or alive or gone or here, to cast off a cocoon of cold and splinters and free him. Something burdened his voice, ran hot and metallic in the back of his throat, and when he realized it was blood, he turned his head and let loose a mouthful of it.
His world was still as black as pitch. He could hear screaming confusion and angry earth beyond, and it all seemed to be a hundred leagues away, unreal, illusory and sickening.
He tried to move. Nagging burn turned to a torrent of fire down his chest and arms. His legs did not feel the pain, nor did they feel anything else, when he reached, and trembling fingertips slid across an upended rafter whose angry splinters had pierced pale flesh. Leth had been cruel, to drop him into such a world, to give him the joy of love only to rip it away as quickly as it had all happened; and now this, left alone, without even the light of his father God to gaze upon as he piled regret on top of fear on top of pain.
Throbbing pain started to wane, and warm black cotton plagued his vision. For a moment, he thought he could see the laughing face of a blue-eyed blond, a farm boy, as much a child of the Gods as he and he tried to return the smile, but his mouth had grown weak and all he could manage was a labored exhale behind slack, pale lips. And then, a voice called to him, above the din of panic, and Lysander let his heavy lashes flutter shut.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very, very
Mad world, mad world
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
The sun had not yet come up.
Mortar and wood shuddered, wrapped him on all sides, pushed on his chest, and suffocated him. He’d woken in his bed, in darkness, and in pain. Oh, the pain. Petch, he growled low in his throat, a choking plea that had meant to be a call for help—for Sitkanis, for Veldrys, for someone, dead or alive or gone or here, to cast off a cocoon of cold and splinters and free him. Something burdened his voice, ran hot and metallic in the back of his throat, and when he realized it was blood, he turned his head and let loose a mouthful of it.
His world was still as black as pitch. He could hear screaming confusion and angry earth beyond, and it all seemed to be a hundred leagues away, unreal, illusory and sickening.
He tried to move. Nagging burn turned to a torrent of fire down his chest and arms. His legs did not feel the pain, nor did they feel anything else, when he reached, and trembling fingertips slid across an upended rafter whose angry splinters had pierced pale flesh. Leth had been cruel, to drop him into such a world, to give him the joy of love only to rip it away as quickly as it had all happened; and now this, left alone, without even the light of his father God to gaze upon as he piled regret on top of fear on top of pain.
Throbbing pain started to wane, and warm black cotton plagued his vision. For a moment, he thought he could see the laughing face of a blue-eyed blond, a farm boy, as much a child of the Gods as he and he tried to return the smile, but his mouth had grown weak and all he could manage was a labored exhale behind slack, pale lips. And then, a voice called to him, above the din of panic, and Lysander let his heavy lashes flutter shut.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very, very
Mad world, mad world
End
