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godlessblossomThe feeds are cut, the communicator turned off, and soon the device is sent sliding across the wooden floor until it settles beneath the settee, a place which has recently become Misaki’s bed. A notebook and pencil lay by her side, resting forgotten by her legs.
No more.
She cannot look back on the footage of the last couple of weeks any longer. Every time she sees their faces she hears clips of conversations they have had on the network, conversations which she has eavesdropped on. It is not the people that she cares for. Not all of them at least. It is what was done, who did it, and the general lack of knowledge surrounding the incident which bothers her. A third party, unknown to both Hades and Hecate? An unknown variable which terrifies her.
An image of Mitsuru, hurt and scared, comes to her mind and her fingers close around the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up as she stares ahead at the wall. All it takes is one thought and the connections start in her mind.
Mitsuru’s current pain, her sadness, her intelligent mind broken. Past torture of her friend, her screams, her broken to a near death state then brought back to only have it repeated once more.
Castiel. A broken man. Sadness. Something happened? Recent disappearances. Recent returns? Past events. The Cave. Torture. A bloody hand, smashed past recognition. Something is not right, something is missing. Not a broken man. A broken angel.
Angel. A sad red haired woman, Anna. Ellen, upset over something lost. Returned and lost once more.
Lost. Suzaku. A son left behind. Confusion. Hurt. Why? Jung Tsu? Drained and near death.
Death. The scantily clad girl, skewered from all sides. Carver’s friend. Something more? Something is wrong. No sight. Sadness. Loss.
More sad faces. More people have lost and will be lost. All soon to be broken.
Broken people.
Broken creatures.
Broken toys of these Gods.
Broken… toys?
…Toys…
“Stop!” A familiar voice rings out, a past recollection, an echo that sends her falling.
Misaki’s eyes widen as she stares at the ceiling, unmoving despite the pencil digging into her back.
No. A lie. She cares about the people, just not all in the Underworld. However, others do. It is a web of connections laid between people. Everybody is cared for and cares for another. Remove or harm one person and it creates a domino effect until it does affect some one she cares for.
Escape is impossible. She is not an idiot. Fighting Gods is not something they can manage, even if they were to band together. All they can do is survive and, for that, they need knowledge.
History repeats itself, the torture is evidence of that, so they must learn from the past and use it to ready themselves for the future.
A sigh.
It is time to return to work. For those few she does not want to see dead.
No more.
She cannot look back on the footage of the last couple of weeks any longer. Every time she sees their faces she hears clips of conversations they have had on the network, conversations which she has eavesdropped on. It is not the people that she cares for. Not all of them at least. It is what was done, who did it, and the general lack of knowledge surrounding the incident which bothers her. A third party, unknown to both Hades and Hecate? An unknown variable which terrifies her.
An image of Mitsuru, hurt and scared, comes to her mind and her fingers close around the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up as she stares ahead at the wall. All it takes is one thought and the connections start in her mind.
Mitsuru’s current pain, her sadness, her intelligent mind broken. Past torture of her friend, her screams, her broken to a near death state then brought back to only have it repeated once more.
Castiel. A broken man. Sadness. Something happened? Recent disappearances. Recent returns? Past events. The Cave. Torture. A bloody hand, smashed past recognition. Something is not right, something is missing. Not a broken man. A broken angel.
Angel. A sad red haired woman, Anna. Ellen, upset over something lost. Returned and lost once more.
Lost. Suzaku. A son left behind. Confusion. Hurt. Why? Jung Tsu? Drained and near death.
Death. The scantily clad girl, skewered from all sides. Carver’s friend. Something more? Something is wrong. No sight. Sadness. Loss.
More sad faces. More people have lost and will be lost. All soon to be broken.
Broken people.
Broken creatures.
Broken toys of these Gods.
Broken… toys?
…Toys…
“Stop!” A familiar voice rings out, a past recollection, an echo that sends her falling.
Misaki’s eyes widen as she stares at the ceiling, unmoving despite the pencil digging into her back.
No. A lie. She cares about the people, just not all in the Underworld. However, others do. It is a web of connections laid between people. Everybody is cared for and cares for another. Remove or harm one person and it creates a domino effect until it does affect some one she cares for.
Escape is impossible. She is not an idiot. Fighting Gods is not something they can manage, even if they were to band together. All they can do is survive and, for that, they need knowledge.
History repeats itself, the torture is evidence of that, so they must learn from the past and use it to ready themselves for the future.
A sigh.
It is time to return to work. For those few she does not want to see dead.