Everything that they did was pure, unadulterated violence. Everything they touched was reduced to ash. Everything they hated erased. The carnage and destruction was something jarring, against the backdrop of beauty that they lived in. It was a dark reminder of what and who they were.
At first when they were young, they tried to outrun the violence. They were foolish children that thought they could escape what they were. They could be whoever they wanted if they tried hard enough. It was foolish, but children were prone to odd ideas without any base for thought. It still followed them though, the wreckage, the blood, the pure churning of the Earth. It sickened and frightened them.
It was their curse.
And they sought to live with it, never staying in one place, always moving. Knowing that the curse was on their heels, sniffing, searching, panting. That was there world for sometime. For centuries. The Earth roiled at their footsteps. Plants withered. Cities fell. Immortals died in moments. They were the everlasting curse, the plague that did not die but simply changed. It was their burden, it was their penance.
Until they embraced it. But that wasn’t allowed.
Roux was his favourite.
Her red hair was jarring against the alabaster of his skin. Everything about them was a stark contrast. Her honeyed skin to his white. His white locks to her red. Her jade eyes to his mix of pink and red. Everything about them was opposing, but their spirits were the same.
The others always joked that when Mother Darkness had made them, she split mound of clay and made the two of them. Oli carried that sentiment close in his heart, Roux was his other half. When the others would jeer and make fun of his thoughts, Roux was there to push the boundaries with him, to test the limits of his thoughts and perceptions.
Another preview of the collection of short stories that I’m working on, The Dust of Time. Coming out this Summer!