ghastlyscribbles

[ghastlyscribbles]

a throne is settled in the middle of the room, drawing all attention with the way it seems to attract and absorb all the light in the room. it is both the brightest and darkest object in the glorious throne room. she is all alone as she kneels in front of it. she remembers the man that belongs on this throne, she can visualise him walking in. she smells his robes as he walks past, hears the click of his heels on the tile. in her minds eye he settles on the throne. cold and regal, but slumped playfully across the throne. the light flickers off of his white crown, his dark eyes fixed on her. his voice sounds as tears slip over her cheeks- wait, no. that isn't part of the scene… was she… crying? she touches her cheek. it's wet and cold, the tears still streaming. they drip to the marble under her as she cries at the foot of his throne, so unbearably devoid of him. the ghost of cold hands wipe away her tears, the loneliness slowly washing away. she isn't alone. wait, she isn't alone? who-? she's on guard immediately, looking around with sharp eyes. the feeling of company unsettles her greatly, in a city supposedly dead. there is no one in the hall with her, as far as she can see at least. she knows very well that company does not always linger where she can see it. she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, heightening her intuition. getting up slowly she turns her face to the throne. "show yourself." they are the first words she's spoken in months, fitting that they should be spoken here. there! a flicker on the throne. an apparition fades into her sight. it almost seems… like it belongs there. regal and… cold. the sudden drop in temperature as he takes shape steals her breath, ever so reminiscent of how his physical presence would. after a few seconds she is staring into the eyes of the man she lost. the grief stabs through her much the same way the biting cold of his presence does. he is settled on his throne in the same lopsided way he was when he lived. his dark eyes are on her, but no light reflects off his white crown. she looks at him, studies him. trying to look for the subtle differences Death made in the man she loved. the way no light seems to touch him anymore, the coldness in his attention. the way instead of the pull she feels a push emanating from him. his unnatural physical coldness, complimenting his emotional coldness. he had always been beyond her reach, but Death had made him distant. he reaches out, silently beckoning her. as always she answers his call, never to respond. she stumbles over, hesitant in her beliefs. his touch is a whisper on her cheek, barely grazing her skin. but, oh. it is all she needs. she firmly grasps his cold hand, pulling him close. no words are exchanged, neither is body warmth in their deaths. bound inextricably by their feelings the Lovers reunite, spiting death. neither of them should be possible, but love defies laws. the King kisses his Knight in an Empty, Desolate, Dead city. like their souls, their bodies meet. hands desperate for confirmation of their counterparts existence. tears, cold and impossible, fall. Hands are gentle in their hold and touch. the Embrace is endless, the both of them not ready to let go. He'd never admit it, but Losing her was his nightmare. his love is rough, but all consuming. he holds her to communicate the feelings neither of them spoke, back when they were alive. She holds him in return, whispering all she should have said when blood flowed in her veins. The Lovers kneel where they stood, all those years ago. Despite neither of them having body warmth any longer, their forever will be warm. The city will never live again, and the palace will stay for the two of them to haunt. but never again will their ground be Empty. When in need of safety and an intangible warmth, travellers will find the Dead city. The King and his Knight watch over any who seek a peaceful night. all visitors shall never need for anything, for whatever period of their stay. for this is the City of The Lovers, sharing their fate in Death.

[ghastlyscribbles]

a throne is settled in the middle of the room, drawing all attention with the way it seems to attract and absorb all the light in the room. it is both the brightest and darkest object in the glorious throne room. she is all alone as she kneels in front of it. she remembers the man that belongs on this throne, she can visualise him walking in. she smells his robes as he walks past, hears the click of his heels on the tile. in her minds eye he settles on the throne, cold and regal. the light flickers off of his white crown, his dark eyes fixed on her. his voice sounds as tears slip over her cheeks- wait, no. that isn't part of the scene… was she… crying? she touches her cheek. it's wet and warm, the tears still streaming. they drip to the marble under her as she cries at the foot of his throne, so unbearably devoid of him. the ghost of cold hands wipe away her tears, the loneliness slowly washing away. she isn't alone. wait, she isn't alone? who-? she's on guard immediately, looking around with sharp eyes. the feeling of company unsettles her greatly, in a city supposedly dead. there is no one in the hall with her, as far as she can see at least. she knows very well that company does not always linger where she can see it. she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, heightening her intuition. getting up slowly she turns her face to the throne. "show yourself." they are the first words she's spoken in months, fitting that they should be spoken here. there! a flicker on the throne. an apparition fades into her sight. it almost seems… like it belongs there. regal and… cold. the sudden drop in temperature as he takes shape steals her breath.