Ni'Srilan: The Desert: Hypatia;

“This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown.:
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout 'Save Us!'...:

...and I'll look down, and whisper, 'No'"

Ni’srilan was on his mind. And when something was on his mind he didn’t easily dismiss it. He knows better than to believe in coincidences. Everything was for a reason, be it the smallest instance. Nicodemus smiles then, a dark thing, twisting and contorting his handsome face. Andraste flies circles about him, her fire flitting all about his head. His loyalties were not in question, they never had to worry about that. And Hypatia had nothing to hope for in his coming. He feels very much the Spartan in his pledge of loyalty, his love of Andarin. The thought brings yet another smile to him, in the irony of his life as a scholar, when he was built and bred of the finest warriors.

There was too much history with Nicodemus.

He feels a pull in his heart the farther he gets from Andarin and his daughter. A part of his mind stays with them, and Andraste flies high above him, her sights easily triggered to Andarin. Keir does not go with him, but remains with Skylar. Nicodemus smiles at the thought of her, and how she attempted to hide her….predicament. Even as her tummy swells with the pride of life she still has not told him, and he senses the turbulence in her mind when she tries in vain. But little did she know that he was rather excited about the news. He had come to embrace Formaldehyde with a sense of brotherhood and camaraderie, and he trusted him with all of his heart.

It would be a shame if either of them betrayed that…

But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was now, and Nicodemus knew that as he stepped forth, his ashen-hooves laying purchase upon the sands. It was there, upon the edge, that he finds a lone figure. A mare, white as snow, fire caressing her while water commingles. Hypatia.

“Queen.”

It is all that he says. Not his Queen, but a Queen nonetheless.

SEER
**NICODEMUS**

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.

FIRE III

Emissary of Andarin, Phoenixsong, Iriase, and Kaikua'ana

Picture and HTML Copyright to Romance 2009