[P] — cask of amontillado

[Raum]

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.

  

Why revenge? The man asks.
 
Behind him the young boy still stalks, arachnid with his sharp angles and lanky torso. He looks wantonly to the grey man, no idea he looks upon the king. Oh he hungers, he hungers so desperately that it is so terribly tempting to spring upon the white stallion and steal his purse. How many buns could he buy then! Enough to feed himself for a year, at least.
 
But he does not dare. Not when there is another man beside him, not when the king and his guard are in a parade only a single street away. How swiftly he could be reprimanded, how fast he would be strung up as an example before all the folk of Solterra…
 
But hunger drives to distraction. The boy trembles with the effort not to steal and condemn his life because… is he not condemned already?
 
Why revenge?
 
Ah, that question again. Raum looks to the boy and his darkly desperate look. “Why not?” He says again. “Revenge is for many, many reasons. For betrayal, abuse, lies, defeat, love…”
 
That final word clangs like a bell, deep and resonant, ending and commanding. The street has begun to busy, as spectators step away from the main street where the procession travelled. Their eyes have feasted upon the spectacle of the King and now they leave with thoughts and comments upon their tongue. Rumours abound, jibes are made and slowly Raum and Erasmus weave through the mire of these lies and observations.
 
Who are you.
 
Erasmus asks the snow-white man beside him. Raum could say Eik. He could say a handful of others or even made up his own story, yet he does not. He sees no point in lying now.
 
Who are you?
 
He stops to meet the black and gold man’s gaze. “I am an observer.” From his shoulders great silver wings suddenly grow and reach out. The stallion leaps into the air and the wings beat once, twice, a third time, until he is ascending and the crowds are parting to watch the man who suddenly grew wings. Already fretful voices are calling and they are scattering as if they fear the presence of their king.
 
The sun catches the white of his flesh and tans it into a rich, rich silver. His blue eyes look down upon Erasmus. “It has been a good talk. If you wish to know any more of revenge, you know where to find me.” And Raum is gone, just the flurry of feathers remain.

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@Erasmus - aaand fin <3