Winter is Passing

He had a sinner’s hands. It didn’t bother him unduly. Or rather, it hadn’t. The Beast had turned weakness into a fatal flaw and he had risen above it. Or sunk beneath its notice at least. His mother? Father? Guardians? Less so. And they bled for it. As simple as that. 
Flaws didn’t merely disappear though. They were buried, covered, left to fester. They grew, fissures growing into strangling ivy, chinks in the scale and mail. Plaster, mortar, worthless. Admission, less than that. 
The foundation was worn. The purpose was missing. 
He had never been a church going man. There hadn’t been the time, nor the opportunity. The closest he had come was Johnny, and he was hardly a sample of solidity. Those women he had savaged, on his mentor’s example. More red to die the palms. He still had Jack’s knife, actually. It was buried with the rest of his past on the Thames. 
But there was something. Something strangely appealing. The Spear was a man of faith. Look at the strength he drew from it. That it granted him. The sigils might not fit his blackened scales, but the force behind them…worse men than he had gained the Lord’s grace. Where was the hurt in trying?
He knew it wasn’t a pass. There were rolls of debts to be collected on his passing. And it wasn’t a crutch, a comfort to cling to. Bu tit could be a cane, an aid on his walk. The onus was his. But maybe this could help adjust the weight to sit a little easier. 
So Alex prayed. He froze the halls in his fervor and prayed. 
Court was drawing close. He let the gates thaw. The sharpened snow was a step. He let the soft flakes fall naturally. Well, as naturally as they could. 
There was only so much a man could do. 
Category:Fiction
Category:Winter Court