I am the angels that hold and surround you, I am the demon you're afraid to need. I am the temple that will bless and feed you, I'm the religion keeping you in chains
It is late, when I pass beneath the arch that, when I built it, I did not know it would be my magnum opus. There is a storm building on the horizon like the storm in me. Dark, heavy clouds sitting in the in-between space between here and there, then and now. I can feel the way off thunder in my bones. Heat lightning streaks through the clouds, purple and red like bruises and blood.
There is no moon to paint a kaleidoscope of colors through the stained glass windows in the arch. There is no moon to laugh as she stares down at my back, retreating from the place I had come to call home. The windows are lightless tonight, and I am a void. The world is waiting, holding its breath. The storm will break. Sooner or later, it will break.
I ascend the mountainside, like I did once those years ago in that snowstorm, axe in hand. I climb, and climb, until I rise into cooler air. Until I am standing on a precipice, looking down on a world so small I could forget that it once housed something better in me. I cannot decide if I should be forgetting all of the things it made me, or remembering the things it changed in me.
My instincts sense it coming before I hear it—long before I see it—whatever is running, out there, in the rocks and the snow. Everything is slow, as I turn. As the takin stumbles and falls. I can feel its exhaustion. Nearby, a snow leopard screams.
As I make my way closer to the creature, I consider. It tries to stand and fails, though it does not look injured. Has it simply given up? My magic draws closer, weaving its way around the tired beast. Something carnal rears its head inside me, like a black wave crashing or a great maw yawning open. I could save its life. But I would be leaving the leopard to hunger. I stand there next to the takin for what feels like hours. I know its hunter will be here soon.
So I do what I should have done, everytime my loyalty to what I am was called into question.
I walk away.
My magic cleaves itself from the takin, which does not try to stand again. I go further around the mountain, deeper into its heart, its chill. My magic feels the moment the snow leopard gets its meal, like a source being depleted. Something inside me turns icy as the stones under my feet. I do not stop. I keep going, until I am no longer thinking about living or dying or the world behind me.
"Speaking."
There is no moon to paint a kaleidoscope of colors through the stained glass windows in the arch. There is no moon to laugh as she stares down at my back, retreating from the place I had come to call home. The windows are lightless tonight, and I am a void. The world is waiting, holding its breath. The storm will break. Sooner or later, it will break.
I ascend the mountainside, like I did once those years ago in that snowstorm, axe in hand. I climb, and climb, until I rise into cooler air. Until I am standing on a precipice, looking down on a world so small I could forget that it once housed something better in me. I cannot decide if I should be forgetting all of the things it made me, or remembering the things it changed in me.
My instincts sense it coming before I hear it—long before I see it—whatever is running, out there, in the rocks and the snow. Everything is slow, as I turn. As the takin stumbles and falls. I can feel its exhaustion. Nearby, a snow leopard screams.
As I make my way closer to the creature, I consider. It tries to stand and fails, though it does not look injured. Has it simply given up? My magic draws closer, weaving its way around the tired beast. Something carnal rears its head inside me, like a black wave crashing or a great maw yawning open. I could save its life. But I would be leaving the leopard to hunger. I stand there next to the takin for what feels like hours. I know its hunter will be here soon.
So I do what I should have done, everytime my loyalty to what I am was called into question.
I walk away.
My magic cleaves itself from the takin, which does not try to stand again. I go further around the mountain, deeper into its heart, its chill. My magic feels the moment the snow leopard gets its meal, like a source being depleted. Something inside me turns icy as the stones under my feet. I do not stop. I keep going, until I am no longer thinking about living or dying or the world behind me.
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
