Dream, Eyvan (Theophany)
Snow whips around Eyvan as he stands over Thax and the shattered gargoyle. Blood seeps from the cracked stone, from the shards that the guards had managed to chip away. Steam rises from the crimson rivulets as they meet the cold air.
"Is that serious?" Eyvan asks, looking at Thax. The older illusionist kneels in the snow, head and shoulders powdered. He is wearing his guard's uniform. He is motionless. Of course - he's dead. They both are.
The smell of blood hangs like a heavy, oppressive perfume in the chill, sharp winter air.
"Thax?" There is no answer. "Thax?" This time, he reaches out, touches the illusionist's shoulder.
The shoulder crumbles like worm-eaten wood beneath his fingers. Eyvan recoils, but the damage has been done. The crumbling won't stop, eating into Thax's body like a horrible rot, destroying him. The head turns, and Eyvan realizes that it isn't Thax whom he's destroyed - it's Yossef.
"Death isn't so bad," Yossef say with a sardonic smile, as the crumbling moves into his side, runs down one kneeling leg, eats into his arm. "See?" He extends one hand, and it crumbles away as Eyvan watches, horrified. "I always knew you loved me, Eyvan."
The rot moves inwards. Clothing and flesh fall away from ribs. Steam wreathes around Yossef's beating heart as its warm surface is bared to the winter's chill.
"What's wrong, Eyvan? This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Eyvan shudders, eyes fixed with morbid fascination on the slow destruction as it progresses through his lover's body.
"Won't you kiss me goodbye, at least? We didn't get a chance, last time."
Eyvan slowly steps forward. The sweet smell of corruption mingles with bloodscent. He is revolted. He is drawn. His lips gently touch Yossef's cheek, and it begins to crumble, tasting like sand and seawater.
"Here." His skull seems to grin fiercely as Yossef presses his gift into Eyvan's hand. Bone begins to collapse in on itself. Eyvan's fingers curl around the warm, beating heart. "This is what you always wanted, isn't it?"
Eyvan, standing close, smells bonemeal as the skeleton crumbles away, lost in the snow. Like the mingled scents of a pastry shop - corrupted flesh, blood and bone. Nothing more human - nothing more vulnerable - nothing more enticing. He straightens and thoughtfully touches his tongue to the warm, steaming heart. It was nice of Yossef to leave him a snack. Perhaps it would taste good with gargoyle.
