Autor: andantezen

bulllordem:

“Hell. Is it, Minos?” She doesn’t see, but instead pictures it. Therefore, a little less blind than him. “The underworld?”

He is predestined to preside over the underworld. He knows, she knows. But when shall he depart lies with the gods.

“The future, my Queen.” He has arrived to this conclusion several visions ago. “A distant one.”

“Not ours, then.”

“Not yours. Not mine. Not our children’s. Not even their children’s. But still mankind’s.”

The Queen sighs, letting go. She must learn, like he has learned, to live on the verge of terror. His visions can strike any time. 

Descendant is the motion forward. A decadence that cannot be avoided. So slow that it might only hurt on others, the King hopes. 

“Come, Minos. Come unburden. Come unload.” Her invitation whispered. The Queen’s thoughts on a closer future, dependent of the immediate present. “It is our moon. Come, my King.” And she leaves the curtains.

bulllordem:

He is blind, too. He sees but doesn’t apprehend. Maybe that’s why vision after vision remains out of focus? 

How can he describe such chaos? He’s seen it before, never before put it into words. He shall try, though. For his Queen. To the guards around them, it will simply sound like an unsung song.

“Tallest, the thinnest of mountains. Stony fingers sprung from the underworld. Bathed by a cold fire.

A landscape of  fallen stars. Caves, stacked up to the sky. On the highest, the lowest, people trapped inside them. The same sourceless, cold fire bathes them, too.” 

And what puzzles him the most, that he can’t even name. The caves seem to be shut from outside by… a tear? It should be the finest of crystals, but can there be a time when crystals abound like that? It’s easier for tears to suffice.

bulllordem:

When was the last moon they lay together? The birth of Princess Ariadne
– in fact, all the pregnancy – has strained the Queen. At least two seasons
have slipped by for her recovery.

His sober visions shouldn’t override the High Priestess’ predictions. The fumes of the cracked earth inspire her words. Hers, a tongue moistened by the nectar of the gods. Lips must remain unkissed, to utter the purest riddles. 

He is not drunk, though he has drank. He only has to blink to be haunted. 

How can the High Priestess not see what he sees? Not see that he sees? It amazes and puzzles the King that she can prophesy – and still be so blind.

bulllordem:

“What is it, Minos?” 

His Queen’s voice – a bird that won’t land, that won’t rest, won’t build a nest.