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Eulogy (Narrative)
[following this post]
Digging the grave wasn't the hard part. The thought of having to bury himself was.
Each scoop of dirt thrown from his palms was actually almost something tangible he could cling to in those moments. The excavation didn't take long with his powers, the vampire part of him allowing the process to be almost too quick, actually. He never imagined he would be planning to bury his own body. But now he was, and he couldn't see another alternative. He didn't want to incinerate it, that didn't seem right. Nor did leaving it laying on the roof in all of that blood. No, it deserved better. He deserved better.
Once the hole was opened and deep enough, Eric picked up the headless corpse of his other and lowered it gently into the depths of the ground. The head came next, settled once again on the chest. The fact that he and the corpse were soaked in both dirt and blood didn't matter. Clumps of moist Earth clung to both of them. The ache in his heart was worse. This was not the way he had hoped to leave this realm, but it wasn't his choice. It never had been, even when this had been his mirror.
The pile of dirt to the side was then pushed back into place and patted down, a few swift motions and the corpse was covered now completely. A large stone sat at the head of the buried site, a marker of sorts. Eric had planted it there even before the digging had begun. Now he sat before it. A puncture to the skin with his fangs and the fresh blood beading on his flesh became the fluid for the epitaph. Instead of a name or words, Eric drew their symbol. His symbol. The Crow.
Bran looked down at him from atop the headstone, perched idly. The bird was uncomfortable. Eric felt it. He hated it. But he couldn't help it.
When the drawing was complete, Eric closed his eyes not bothering to heal the wound. It would seal itself. He put his face into his hands and sat on his own grave, legs folded beneath him. Still as a statue, unmoving, he settled and it was there he would be for some time. More than likely well into the night. The images wouldn't leave his mind. The scenes played themselves over and over again before his vision. He knew Macklyn and Mara lurked beyond him some place but he couldn't go to them. Not yet. Maybe later.
Now....now it was time to mourn.
Digging the grave wasn't the hard part. The thought of having to bury himself was.
Each scoop of dirt thrown from his palms was actually almost something tangible he could cling to in those moments. The excavation didn't take long with his powers, the vampire part of him allowing the process to be almost too quick, actually. He never imagined he would be planning to bury his own body. But now he was, and he couldn't see another alternative. He didn't want to incinerate it, that didn't seem right. Nor did leaving it laying on the roof in all of that blood. No, it deserved better. He deserved better.
Once the hole was opened and deep enough, Eric picked up the headless corpse of his other and lowered it gently into the depths of the ground. The head came next, settled once again on the chest. The fact that he and the corpse were soaked in both dirt and blood didn't matter. Clumps of moist Earth clung to both of them. The ache in his heart was worse. This was not the way he had hoped to leave this realm, but it wasn't his choice. It never had been, even when this had been his mirror.
The pile of dirt to the side was then pushed back into place and patted down, a few swift motions and the corpse was covered now completely. A large stone sat at the head of the buried site, a marker of sorts. Eric had planted it there even before the digging had begun. Now he sat before it. A puncture to the skin with his fangs and the fresh blood beading on his flesh became the fluid for the epitaph. Instead of a name or words, Eric drew their symbol. His symbol. The Crow.
Bran looked down at him from atop the headstone, perched idly. The bird was uncomfortable. Eric felt it. He hated it. But he couldn't help it.
When the drawing was complete, Eric closed his eyes not bothering to heal the wound. It would seal itself. He put his face into his hands and sat on his own grave, legs folded beneath him. Still as a statue, unmoving, he settled and it was there he would be for some time. More than likely well into the night. The images wouldn't leave his mind. The scenes played themselves over and over again before his vision. He knew Macklyn and Mara lurked beyond him some place but he couldn't go to them. Not yet. Maybe later.
Now....now it was time to mourn.