faction
We wait for the stars to align. We wait for the city to arise. We wait for our great god to awaken from his slumber. We await the freedom of insanity we will all be given. We wait for Cthulhu to return.
He stepped into this darkness, his breath catching in his throat as he was enveloped by the numbing silence. The cold crept up on him slowly, then all at once, and he quickly stepped out of the room, shutting the door and locking it safely behind him.
His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, accentuating his arms as he lifted the gun to her head.
"But... why? Didn't I ever mean anything to you?" She asked, her voice shaking.
He didn't bother to reply as he pulled the trigger.
It was the outfit she was wearing the night she died, he realized with a start, dropping the bloodstained dress, watching it flutter to the ground as he remembered.
At least it had been an almost painless death.
A single gunshot to the heart.
She never meant to shoot him, but there he was, dead. That was what snapped her out of he Grimbark, but she wished that it never happened.
"Dave..." She pressed one of his bloody, dead hands to her cheek. He wasn't supposed to die. Not like that, not as a god.
"Why?"
So when she lifted the gun to her own head, everything went white instead of black.
There were no trenches on Alternia. There was never any need for them. They were a war-mongering species, yes, but they weren't needed for a race that fought with teeth and claws, sickles and swords. Maybe if there were trenches deep enough to keep the other trolls from crossing, everything would be different, everything would be sane, with no blood spilled. But there was blood, bright and red, lacing the ground. Standing on the ground was an insane troll, crying purple tears for the Moirail he killed. If there were trenches, maybe it wouldn't have ended like that.
There were no trenches on Alternia.