The spiral writhes and pulsates, a sign. Unsated in the quickening winter, it withers. Ruby droplets leak from the smile, turning to dust as they fall - flecks of iron oxide. Rust again.

A prince of Nothing to sit upon his throne of ash, I glance at the sky; if a god is in the heavens, that must be his eye. The eye of some putrid insect, a fly...refracted lenses, a million points of light gazing, staring for a millennia, and seeing nothing. Ennui of a poisoned incunabula.

"Not that it matters." My head falls back against the rubble, and yet it scratches. Grey lips part and press their cold against me, exhaling, and whisper,

"Everyone's waiting."

Destroy Once Done