Of Floss and Flowers

It's raining. But then, it always is. A swift blue hole in a grey ceiling teases to the warm Twins beyond our reach, beyond our hopes, down here in the sodden fields. The afternoon is late and I am soaked through, and though I would never admit it, I am cold. It is harder to keep my energy up, resting does nothing to ease the ache of my body, the fuzzy edges to my vision, the haze that filters every thought in my head.

I am hunting alone, but I do prefer it that way. I can be what I am meant to be, what I am designed for, the only thing I am really good at. A demon killer. I hunt them, chase them, run them down and turn them all into lifeless lumps, mounds of poison, black blood and rotting flesh. The hordes, they come and come and come, and I break my body and my own spirit holding them back from the small bastion of survival left behind the walls.

The misery huddled behind those walls is tangible and contagious, just like the illness that has ripped through the masses that call the city home. Young and old, healthy and infirm, devoted and wicked alike, seem to suffer, save the few that call to Her for relief. Oh how I despise them. The weak and cowardly that turn to Darkness to save their own worthless skins, while the Faithful hold out on hope that the endless efforts to find a way, and heartfelt prayers to the Six will pay off in time.

My prayers rise only to the Storm Father, as has always been my way, but I ache for all the Six and the losses they are sustaining these days. It is my belief, that the Gods..each requires love and adoration to maintain strength and power and work their influence in the world. It has been the ploy of the Others, all along to divert that love, redirect the adoration, to themselves. And to my shame and dismay, I see their plans working, the plot successful and more and more fall victim to the easy way out.

I for one, will not be making an appointment. I can see it now, just the tone of the sign, it screams to me, "The Price for the Cure..is highly personalized". I have to have faith in the visions, faith in my purpose, faith in the skills of whom I have delivered all hope for survival....for everyone. That is a lot to lay upon the shoulders of one person, but we all have our burdens to bear.

I pat the heavy backpack in my hand, and pull out two small grey vials, one marked with a white lily, the other a small slip of green floss, tied in a dainty little bow. I weigh the pros and cons of both, the Lily enough to boost me for now, saving the green thread for when the chips are really down, so to speak. But oh to feel that strength that flowing, wondrous strength that is delivered with the green. I sit there, staring at the two a moment, then put away that little grey vial with the moss colored thread, saving it for...a rainy day.