GILT

Where Loyalties Lie

Contrary to popular belief, bats are not blind.

They peer into the darkness, weaving a path past all obstacles. That was the way of the brothers. That was the way of their father.

Their father. Their maker. Their bane.

All this time spent thinking were ten steps behind him. Years upon years dissipated in ill-fated pursuit of the dreg. When all the while, that bête noire was on their heels; watching their very hapless moves.

A glaring error on his part, Artūras is reduced to shuddering at thought of his maker behind the eyes of beasts. Peering.

That hateful apostate. The bastard who creates bastards.

He and his kin were proof of the old crow's continued existence. And if he perished, the brothers would inevitably return to their human form. As they are, out of place and out of time.

So they spent endless nights following their rooted inklings in crowds of people mucking up short and pitifully wonderful lives. Oh how Artūras envied their mistakes. Yes. Their gaffes! Actions that actually had consequences.

A taut smile registered on his face as he recalled that, ahem...rebirth phase he unleashed on a large swath of Italy in the mid 70s. The 1570's mind you. The Renaissance, his  revival.

Ahh, how he lived for those nights of thick Mediterranean air, of waning moonlight, and the never ending glasses of red. This was before he met his level-headed brother, Ludovic. If anyone ever had the capacity to stop his destruction then, Ludovic just might have been able to.

Back when he was so carelessly seductive. Not careless no, let's say Artūras was inclusive. So he took in his lustful fill, painting the town redder than the setting sun. And in the end, his chosen did what they always do; practically beg him to die. His thin smile played out, curling up at the ends.

Even more predictable were those hopeful mortals that pleaded for eternal life. With him.

At least one thing in this life remains comical.

Ludovic and the brothers found him, during a sporadic outing just like that. Other times, he kept himself shut away. From it all. Especially from the scorching ball in the sky that breathes life into every living thing on earth, except his kind. It's an existence that ages the soul.

Yes, Artūras still has one. His body is dead alive, but that damned soul of his burns a hot, crackling red. That's not to say he is a warm being. A revenge stoked fire rages inside but his cold temper wanted for nothing. He likes to think he is just like his brother in that aspect, cold and calculated.

So seeing the warmth these people take for granted everyday made him want to seethe out of existence. The selfishness of the individual no longer astounds him; it cuts at his heart to know all the best emotions are wasted on the wasteful. His own emotional scale is admittedly weighted, but...still.

"They are running out of time." Artūras thought aloud while spying the grand staircase and the landing above.

Ludovic smiles down curiously at the clouded boy and replied, "We all are."

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