Raindrops in Time (Patreon)

And way down

Her hand stills, fingers clenching around the blade so tightly that nails turn white and dig into the flesh of her palm. She does not shake, but something within her chest does. Alessa has him at her mercy, and she did not want to see it, but the fool angled his head, and now he stares right at her.

Fear. Desperation. "Please."

Her hand does not shake. "Alessa." She hears from behind her back.

The fool's eyes.

Alessa closes hers. Her knife is inches away from his throat, she can feel him holding his breath as if it will save him. "Alessa." She hears again, harder this time. A command.

She opens her eyes. They are cold, she knows, as cold as the ice that crystallizes around her heart. "It will not hurt," she hears herself say, her voice sounding so far away. And the fool's eyes widen, his mouth opens, but she does not hear his cry for she is far away.

Her hand stills no more. It slashes across. Warmth coats her fingers, but she does not feel it.

"Good," Lord Tarek murmurs somewhere behind. She can hear him moving away, but she keeps looking towards the plains, watching the first rays of a coming day. The fool lies at her feet.

But she is so far away.

We go

It circles his hand like a snake.

Little beads after one another, making a trail that ends at the pulse point of his wrist. The cross sits right in the middle, and Hadrian knows it impossible, but it seems as if it sets the rhythm of his heart. It's it that makes it pulse, slowly, so deeply that it echoes in his eardrums.

"Forgive us for our sins."

The congregation hums around him, their collective voices rising towards the high ceiling of the church. A gregorian chorus bounces from the square, stocky stones, and Hadrian knows the walls do not shake, but it seems to him that they do. It seems to him that dust falls from the cracks, and the whole building creaks and moans, struggling to hold the impossible weight of the cross hanging from the altar.

Imposing, beautiful, and made of polished gold.

"... And lead us not into temptation."

Dust floats in the sunlight that filters in through the windows. Hadrian can feel it clustering on his lips, can feel it seeping into his eyes. He can feel it filling his chest with each new breath. He wants to talk, to pray with his brothers, but dust clings to the walls of his throat, and Hadrian finds that he cannot.

His gauntlets lay on the ground beside him, next to his kneeled legs. "But deliver us from evil."

His eyes are on the altar, gold glinting in the splendor of the morning. His breastplate holds the silver cross of the Templar Order, and it's that order, his Captain, that Hadrian follows when the mass comes to an end.

Hands gauntleted once more, but he kept his cross inside the left one, holding it now in the center of his palm. And Hadrian knows he dreams it, but he could swear he feels the wood crack. He could swear it splintered in half.

Say way down

You're falling.

Wind rushes, clothes flutter, your weapon slips past your fingers and flies out of sight, for your body is much heavier, and the earth's pull is ravenous for you.

You're falling, and you know that you scream, but you can't hear even an echo of it. You swirl in the air, rolling amongst the wind, trying to grab onto something, anything, because you know what follows next. You know that a river awaits, muddy and sulfurous and filled with waters that want to drown your lungs. You know...

But you fall, and fall, and keep on falling. And your ears may be busy, but even so, they can't pick up any other sounds. There isn't a dampness in the air, no roaring of rushing waters. You try to pierce through the darkness, try to see any source of light, but there is none. Only void, stretching forever.

You're falling, but you've stopped screaming. You've stopped struggling. There isn't a river beneath. You look up, and you can't see any sky above. There is nothing.

You're falling.

And it's not panic that crushes your chest. It's dread. Because the earth, you realize, is ravenous no more. You're falling. Just falling. Your palm burns. Your glove is gone.

And you fall.

Towards nowhere.

We go

- - - 

(I was listening to this song and this just slipped into my mind. Don't mind it much, it's just a little drabble 😋)