A turning of the page

[Thane ir'Wyndan]

Long months had gone into the ritual, the binding and he now felt each moment of those months hitting his body like a hammer blow.  One after the other they finally fell as he sat staring into those empty eyes in front of him.  One after the other they were beating the life out of him, his life was measured in the breaths he could not stop himself from drawing.  But it hadn't been enough, not really.  It was never enough and yet it had been too much, his life was measured in heart beats that were all too quickly drawing to an end.

Sighing and resting his hand forward he felt the cold smooth lines forming the brow over that empty gaze which met his own.  All for this, all the blood and sacrifice, all the screams and promises, all the betrayals and still it had not been enough.  Malanosik had promised it would not be enough and they had believed him even as they all continued to give birth to the betrayals needed to evoke that promise from him.

Moving this hand to pick up the quill again he felt and saw the shake in it and knew he didn't have time to finish the words that were needed.  This then was to be his final betrayal, to taunt those to come with a promise of help and not be able to finish it.  But what was to be was to be, his was but to follow the course he had set upon so long ago.

He wrote of the story of Malanosik, of the council of those sent to judge and of those betrayed that the binding could be made.  Each word took too many heartbeats to write and he sighed and set down the quill.  His next breath was taken long and slow and when released it exploded in blood across the page.  Slowly, calmly he wrote the final line that would seal the betrayal and offer the slim hope of rebirth.

"The Morning has come again, may its light be banished to the dark of betrayal again."

He turned the page and there it waited under the steadiness of two empty gazes.