Sometimes, it's best to just let go.
John exited through the shimmering portal and promised me he would return. I doubted it, but I gave him my blessing in the hopes that he might actually pull it off. I had told him not to go but he just shrugged it off, and I couldn't let him go without letting him know that I was hoiping for his return. I wish I had a handkerchief or something, but with only one arm a handkerchief would be difficult to operate.
I'm still amzed at how easily my empty eye cries. I would have thought that with no eye there would be no tears, but there's just this strange sensation of wetness, almost like a fishbowl. The only real difference on that front was that I couldn't get it closed enough to keep the tears inside.
I stayed there for a couple hours after he left, wandering around in circles, lost. The others joined me from wherever they stood, the entire city spinning like clockwork. It was too soon after our release from Industry to think for ourselves. We needed a leader. They needed a leader. I guess it was natural that I would take the position. I had always had little flights of fancy that I would be a queen, or someone in power. It was understandable that I would take control of those who had no ambition, no drive. I gave them purpose. I gave them hope. I gave the Honor.
This is my missive to anyone who wants to read it. I'll post it on the front door of the Clocktower tomorrow morning. This is a message from your new queen, the Theory of Hope.
This is my hope: John, come home.
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The first thing that emerged from the gateway was a long strand of raven-black hair. Then then grinning, dessicated skull came, to the horror of the citizens of Tok. Sophia's long, gnarled fingers reached from the portal, clawing at this new universe, grasping for whatever she could grab hold of. She was greedy, she was powerful.
In a swirl of blood-red robes, the Theory of Hope took off one of the hands. Her sythe split the spindly flesh and bone like a knife through butter, and Sophia's screech shook the clocktower. The Theory of Hope smiled grimly, but already the fleash was knitting itself back together, forming a new hand, new fingers. Another slash, another loss, but the process was irreversable, and now Sophia was enraged.
She emerged fully from the portal, roaring in a backwards talk. The one who had been known as Runaway spat in the pitch-black eye of the terror and cut again, rolling the curved blade up and over Sophia's raised arm and dipping it into the beating heart of the monster. But to a creature that regenerates a heart wound is but a scratch. She kept coming, ignoring the splash of violent red that poured from the gaping hole. She raked sharp nails across the Theory of Hopes face, sending a golden crown tumbling to the ground in the process, but losing the hand that dealt the blow.
The hand grew back, and the Theory of Hope cursed. She leapt back into the fray, fearless, battleing for her people, for herself, for Tok, for Scavenger.
For Hope.
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Topic: Do not trust the Rainbow Snail (Updated 2/09/11) (Read 99098 times)