˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ now playing ; pompeii by bastille

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘠𝘌𝘈𝘙 𝘞𝘈𝘚 479 𝘉𝘊𝘌 .

The city of Athens, Greece lay in ruins below. The battlegrounds of land and city had truly been razed, broken to the very bones of whatever foundation that had been built up long ago. Fires danced across wooden doors and abandoned stalls in ancient marketplaces. This city had long been abandoned, ravaged by warriors of old and persistence. 

It was a shame truly. To watch something so beautiful, so destined to stand long and proud to the world, be reduced to nothing more than meaningless debri. Of course, this so called debri in the future would be revered, swarmed by tourists who have the adoration and dedication to travels of devastating beauty. For now, however, nothing lay here but the broken hopes and shattered dreams of a people who adored poetry, intelligence, theater, music.

A shame certainly, but an unprecedented one.

Kingdoms were meant to revolt, empires meant to fall. This is how things are in this world. This very empire, was a prime example. Temples that once gleamed in the light of apollo, now lay awaiting for a worship that may very well never come. The houses of Greece, once proud and worthy of the ancient gods, now lay in display on the ground, buried within the earth as silence bleed into the dirt.

Silence, it seems, speak volumes.

The night grew weary above them, stars fogged in vision by an unfortunate mix of smoke and clouds, lingering in every last breath taken, even in the lungs of the far away warriors. The one's who had left this nation in a devastating state.

High above, our very own winged warrior, broad-shouldered with a handsome stature, glided over the city, mourning his very own private loss, for those friends he had lost. Feathered wings fluttered as they spread into an angle, turning down into the midst of such a malicious scene. Careful to avoid the open flames, now at last beginning to diminish, he trotted to a stop. A smooth landing, indeed.

Cue Hathor, or rather, Cupid, watched with a weary eye. Deep-seated anxiety began to bleed into his stomach, pooling at the sight before him.

Of course, by now, an immortal must be used to losing such things. Not only a great potential of a city to grow and prosper and live was lost, but the people within. The children who had lost their own lives, so young. It was a gut-wrenching scene, no matter how many times he had seen it. Watching corpses strewn about in the streets, violated and slaughtered in cold blood. There were no words for it. Unfair, didn't even begin to describe such a horrifying sight.

A terrible silence had settled over the city, only joining with the incomparable darkness in creating such a solemn scene. The only sound seemed to be the crackling sound of the fires, something that uncomfortably reminded him of snapping bones.

A prolonged sigh struggled from his lips as Cue walked, being sure to keep his wings bound to his back to avoid any more fire damage, lets say. Absently, his eyes scanned across the ruins that laid before him, the bitterness that had long settled in him only deepening with every step. 

Not quite anxiety, but something like despair. To watch every century, every turn of the clock, more kingdoms fall, more people revolt, more empires shatter. Countries conquor, states form, monarchs and counsels grow corrupt and desperate for power. To the point where they only resort to turning to the most horrible of things.

How tragic.

But for now, a cry echoes from the ruins, a makeshift shelter formed amongst the debri. A loud, aching sob of a young girl, who will never know her family as it once was. On her knees, while the city blazed around her and smog clogged her already heaving lungs. Skin dusted and fingers chalked with the fallen homes in her own community. Before her, lies her own family, battered and ruined, and horribly, atrociously, dead.

Cue knows she can't be more than eight years old.

A lone survivor, of the fall of Greece. A miracle. A blessing, and a curse, all the same. He knows the pain. A heartstring pulled, tugging at the little emotion he remained capable of summoning after all these years. Hesitantly, he took a step towards her, and the young girl whipped to him, wide-eyed and innocent, her features blurred and indistinct with the crackling warmth surrounding them. Darkness marring tones and colors, mixing them together.

Cue's heart, what little there was left of it, aches.

His own child, lost and broken like this one had once been. He'd been cursed to watch her death, and be able to do nothing of it. Nothing but stare as his daughter fell into oblivion, clutching onto his soulmate all the same.

He knew loss well.

And now, so it seemed, so did Echo Draekos.

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My reader, you must wonder at this point, why my language is just so. Distant, unrelatable, proffessional. But listen here, as the time and tides change, so does language. So maybe, child, mine will too.

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ophelia !!

hi all ! welcome to the prologue of my story !

please tell me how you feel about it !

sorry it's so short ! i typically make my chapters about 2k words .

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