[P] biblical loopholes

[Raziel]

R     A     Z     I      E     Lo f   h o u s e   a z h a d e "You're a shitty loser, you know that?" Raoul barked at him as they dropped to a clattering trot, their flanks blooming, shoulders glistening. Raziel knew better than to take his brother's bait, knew better than to spread that smug grin a little wider with a retort that would only irritate his own skin. But knowing better didn't mean much when you were a twin. "And if Mother hears you swearing she'll cut out your tongue; did you know that?" Raoul laughed at him, raspy and low, but Raz did not miss the way he stared a little longer into the sea of faces that swarmed the bustling streets of the capitol and, for him, that was enough. Now who was wearing the smug grin? They strolled lazily (like kings, like two burning suns) swerving synchronously between chariots and beggars that bled into one hedonic haze. Princes of the Capitol and of the Rats beneath their feet.  Raziel can feel the memory of what is about to happen begin to stir, like a beast awoken from its slumber. And he can do nothing as it rears its ugly head; he cannot bind its thirsting claws or sever its bulging jaw. He stands witness before a jury that condemns the sky and the gold that runs from cracks in their dark, dark skin.  And when the gavel comes down, it is Raoul who bears the tremor.  There is blood, there is fire and there -- there goes his brother's skull, bouncing impossibly like an overinflated ball down the cobbled street. He can do nothing. He is small and limp and he cannot breathe when Raoul's eyes, gore-red holes drilled into his freshly severed head, flash open to seek him so. ♣ The heavy blue of dawn was monstrously overwhelming.  He woke to the sensation of cool, sweat-licked sheets clinging to his damp chest; a curse even in summer. For though the nights were short, they remained buried in a chill that would rattle even the fleshiest of men, and Raziel Azhade was far from fleshy. For a broad, dull moment Raziel simply lay, staring at the intricate green and gold Damask detailing along the canopy and draperies. It calmed him: tracing the elegance of the satin weave and wondering what secrets his ancestors had sewn into its hem. This was not an uncommon occurrence -- for the man to jolt upright as black wept into blue, breathless from the nightmare that crept into his sleeping mind - over and over again.  Deja Fucking Vu.  Gahenna stared at him from across the room, her milk-drenched gaze tunnelling into his skin. He knew she would have been watching him for hours (far longer than he cared to know) waiting for the nightmare to begin; for the sweat to rain and pool, for his eyes to pivot and his chest to hammer. She had tried once, just once, to wake him from his torment. She had never tried again.  The first brilliant beams of sunlight were bludgeoning their way through the elephantine curtains, striking the marble floor with fine clubs made of honey and dew. He thought to himself that it looked beautiful. That fight; that wanton greed. The sun would not rest when it knew of the shadows that lurked out there still. As he rose with Gahenna at his shoulder, combing his spear-straight hair, sweeping out of his grand bedchamber, drawling down the spiral staircase, stealing along a back corridor and out at last into the desert that knocked ever closer upon Saudagar's door, Raziel wondered what it would feel like: to possess the passion of the sun.  Or, even, to want anything at all. -

art by nifty-boi | table by kezz

@elif <3333