Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Let him come Ipomoea thinks, and out of the gloom Raum steps, bright and silver. He had passed the bodies that brought such an ache to Ipomoea’s heart. He had passed them as if they were little more that fish upon a market stall – already dead, more useful in death than in life. Was this the court he had made? He looks into the eyes of his Solterrans and witnesses only the blank stare of the starving and the oppressed.
Sunlight dances across the exposed ribs of the people who scrabble for the fruit Ipomoea leaves them. It is not enough. It is never enough for them. “You could have come to the castle and shown your allegiance.” He says softly to a woman who feeds her son before herself. “He would not have been starving then.”
As he moves by, a basket is left before the boy. Within it loaves and vegetables and butters lie aplenty. But Raum is already gone, he spares not a glace back to the boy who already has the basket open and his mother who watches, her lips a line, her eyes a pool of worry. The gates of the citadel draw open and Raum steps beyond, out into the dustbowl dance of Solterra.
There, a man with flowers wanders, gifting out fruit. Some see him, some do not (so lost are they in their misery and hunger). Raum turns to him, he does not change, he does not care to hide his skin – skin that marks him apart. That marks him moon born and a stranger under the sun. Though he lived here once, a spy within their lands, now he sleeps here their king enthroned in all the luxury they can afford. Yet there is no part of Solterra he delights in. There is no part of this place he loves. He came to turn it into ruins and as the sunlight makes a song of their bones as it dances across their prominent skeletons, he knows this a land of little more than ghosts.
Already, those who are aware enough have started forming a line before the stranger as he continues gifting out fruit. Yet there were no sanctions run passed Raum to give out food here. The only provision of fruit was from the palace gates. What is more… “If you had come to me, I could have told you how things are.” Raum murmurs to the stranger. Never have they met before and yet, only a foolish king knows nothing of his enemy courts. Only a foolish king would not be able to recognize Delumine’s Regent. “What business do you have here that does not involve visiting me first, Ipomoea?”
As he steps from the crowd, pouring like mercury, gleaming like moonlight, those stood in the line for fruit suddenly shrink away. They scatter like lice and Raum does not bother to watch them leave. Not when his gaze is upon the foreign Regent. Slowly he circles to stand before Ipomoea, holding him with eyes that drown. Breathe, Ipomoea, breathe they dare as they gaze, unrelenting and sharp as electricity set to charge the water he holds the Delumine man within. “And what right do you have to feed my people uninvited?”
@Ipomoea - couldn't resist. No one sneaks in and hands out food on Raum's watch.... ;o;
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan