wash me away

[moonfleur]

 

There is nothing like water, he thinks as his fingers dip in and out of its rippling surface.

The sun glints off the water, refracting in a million ways like the surface of a very fluid diamond. The water in this particular fountain is tainted, he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue as he dips his entire hand under the surface. A bitter, metallic taste that seems to cling to his taste buds even though he would never willingly drink from it.

 

He withdraws his hand from water with a hiss, eyes casting about for any sign of life. But the courtyard is empty. Same as yesterday, same as the day before that. This basilica and its grounds long since fallen into disrepair, forgotten the minute the wells started to spew poison and the people started to get sick. People cried devilry, demonic powers, that their gods had forsaken them, and left. Like there were gods to forsake them in the first place.

 

He allows himself a snort in disbelief before he stands, pushing himself up from where he’d been seated along the edge of the lowest pool. The marble is cool under his touch, despite the sun, almost as cool as the water. Almost as cool as his own skin, if anyone were to run their fingers across it. If anyone dared to try anyway.

 

The water thrums through the pipes underneath the fountain and he follows its energy, follows the trail of taint that would have made him nauseous if he was still even remotely mortal. It leads past the cobblestoned courtyard and out into a neighbouring garden, overgrown now, nature reclaiming what was once hers.

 

Flowers wind their way over broken stone walls, pulling them down into crumbling heaps around rusted gates. He climbs over them, uncaring of the thorns and branches that tug at his clothes, of the way the flowers seem to tilt towards him for a second before returning to their place.

 

The bitterness is stronger here, the metal burns the roof of his mouth and he scrunches his nose as he stops in front of a large tree. Old, and very much dead. The only dead thing amongst this wellspring of life. Scrunching up his nose, he bends down and reaches deep into the earth with a strength no man should be able to possess. His fingers close around something, hard, and dry, and he finds himself filled with an anger he knows he shouldn’t have. Not when he should be beyond caring.

 

But he cares, he cares that the humans that lived here desecrated the water and dared to put the blame on the gods and demons. Gritting his teeth he yanks hard, dislocating the piece of bone from whatever it had been connected to. Ungrateful. He tosses the bone aside and looks back to where the fountain is, water clear and sparkling but laced with death. 
 

This will be the last time he interferes. Readying himself, he thrusts both hands into the ground, takes a breath, and calls the water to him.