Eleison Undivine Me [BEING EDITED]

Episode One: skeletal delicacy 1.0 (edited)

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Suggestion: Always turn on and loop given music.

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ᴋɪᴇʟ

(A sudden force steals the wind out of him. Rain falls all over his eyes and his face, crashing against his skin with so much strength he feels as if every droplet will tear through him, would dilute with his blood and pour out of his veins.

And maybe it would be nice. Wouldn't his mind pour out of him too if it so happened?

"If you ask nicely, maybe I'll spare you." The killer that holds him pinned to the ground laughs at his helplessness, mockery oozing from his venomous voice. His curved weapon has already slashed many wounds on his body, and they sting, they hurt, oh they hurt so much.

Yet he doesn't scream, neither does he speak. Because Kiel knows it'll do him no good. And his voice is stuck in his throat, his bones buzzing within his flesh, so how can he speak anyway? If he were to lie on this forest floor for longer he would be dead no matter what.

Isn't that what he has known even before the killer had found him helpless and alone? So it is nothing that should bring him surprise.

His eyelids are heavy, his body weak. There is no miracle in heaven that can save him now. Except maybe there are miracles in hell as well that he hasn't thought of.

"How indelicate of you to pretend to be dead." Eze's icy hands let go of his, and soon Kiel cannot feel the weight on him anymore. The sound of rain and the scent of coldness burns in his lungs.

Or maybe it isn't that. Something new has enveloped him. A white gaseous vapour. When he opens his eyes he cannot see much. The killer has disappeared within the mist.

"Run. Until you let me find you again, Rabbit.")

Kiel closes the book and lets it rest in its respective place on the shelf. No matter how much he tries the words seem to not make sense to him today at all. Perhaps it's because of the unnaturally cold air today, or the ceaseless beating of his heart.

Either way, he chooses to lie flat and close his eyes, trying to listen to whatever there is to listen to. A low humming of machines somewhere, the heater perhaps, the wind in the forest beyond the quarters of the mansion, leaves rustling, heart beating.

Leaves rustling? Leaves rustling?

When he opens his eyes he isn't in his place in the closet of Kyrie's room. No, this is nowhere like it. Around him is a moor that reaches far enough to meet the horizon.