…
She wanders in the darkness of night, sputtering mindless
thoughts of dementia to herself. Tears and blood stream from her
body. The deep red essence drips from the gash on her white
feathered wing and the intentional cuts on her arm. She
felt nothing. It was all in vain. She fought her demons until she
could no longer raise her blade to wield it. She was sure that
she could not go on, without her soul mingling with her. Her
reason to be was lost. In her despair, she has drawn her own
blood. To purge her burning. To end, her suffering. Again,
to no avail. She can not die, again. She was eternal. Her torment
as endless as her sentence in this cursed place, this Heaven. The
raven warrior now sits straddling the edge of the warm bathing
pool. Her bleached linen chemise is forever stained with her
rage. The sword that had sent many souls to Hades, and to
Lucifer, is precariously propped up against the bath. She runs
her trembling hand along its razor sharp edge. Blood runs warm
from between her fingers to stain the marble. She feels
nothing. Nothing but the torment. This she can not kill. The
eternal longing. A demon that can not be conquered, not even by
the sword. Charis. Xx
"Without Her..."
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