A Cracked Frame

[ShiroKirishiki]

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The sky was painted black in defiance.

Veiled from the sickening eyes of Avalon.

Her Prophet stilled, granting voice to silence.

Then, She spoke—eyes crimson, smile drawn.

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Tears of black stained my face.
It was hard to breathe. Hard to think.
The world became small, detail became suggestion—everything was a blur.
Except for Her.

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She wasn't there, still imprisoned by the dogs of Avalon.

She peeked through the cracks we made, grasped the tether we cast.

She wasn't there, but was.

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The world fled. The sky blackened like the day we cracked her prison.
Silence clung to every pore, every leaf, every breath.
It was more than I could ever hope to be, more than I ever dreamt to become.
I don't remember kneeling, I don't remember praying.
My knees bent of their own accord, my flesh knowing far sooner than I;
I couldn't think, not when I couldn't breathe.

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Mydaea.

She saw us.

She heard us.

She spoke.

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After all the tribulations. The trials. The wars.

Warding off mankind with all his fervor.

Defending against Humanity and the dog of Avalon.

After it all, we were found worthy.

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The tears refused to stop.
They welled from my Blackened Heart and continued every waking moment She was there.
Every word She spoke was like honey, every motion the epitome of grace.
She granted us rewards for our sacrifice. She spoke words of praise.

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She spoke my name.

Her divine grace touched me,
granted me a blessing.

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For the first time, it was me that was shaped.
It was me that was granted the mercy I gave others.
Flesh was made ink, ink was given form.
I nearly forgot myself, sense bleeding into the endless black.

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But I was Hers.

For a fleeting moment,

I became Her ink.

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She gave me Her blessing, and a challenge.

To speak not with words, but form.

Shape, motion. Action.

To speak in Silence.

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I will be not all there is. There will be more.

I remember the droves of facsimile that defended facsimile.

The unsightly thing that turned my brother from flesh to memory.

I remember their strength, even if it were hollow.

That Painted Army...

I will remake it.

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Her Grace granted the means to do it. 
Shadows will be given form, thought made reality.
Warriors woven of our devotion,
a sacred wave of mercy.

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In order to contend with the indomitable foe of Humanity,

we must master our shape. We must master our truth.

We must master creation.

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From shadows I rose.

With shadows I will weave an army of faithful.

To shadows we will return.

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The Silence before the reveal.

The Silence between words.

The Silence after the end.

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Her Silent Army of Shadows.