Untitled chapter
Blackwater, Blackwater
Heartbreak and Breath
World Eater, World Eater,
King of our Death.
Dusk was setting. A dying sun slanted red and scarlet and crimson over the golden sand of the desert of the southern Sunlands, running smoothly over the harsh, elegant indents in a rockface. This rockface sat in front of a pretty blonde man, towering and sturdy, home to darting lizards and oil-shiny scorpions.
Silence perched placidly atop the man’s black cloak which was spread out on the sand at his ankles, as if ink had run from his shoulders down the curves of his back to pool at his feet.
His hand was shaking. He stared up at the words he had written, at the visage of Death wearing a lopsided crown with the world crushed in its hands, grinning at him. A frown marred his features.
He gripped the blunted blade so hard his hand began to bleed.
