For Alfred - [ URANUS ] can your muse handle change ? do they accept it with open arms, or will they try anything they can to make sure things say the same ?
The dead stared silent as the world passed Alfred by, his clawed and bony hands resting on the ragged joints one might call knees. Orgimmar was a din of muffled noise to his rotted head, his dull yellow eyes barely lit with the unholy light of his creation. Old dead was a hard lot and time was merciless as it slowly rotted one away day by day in an eternity of unending imprisonment.
A gentle nudge of a foot him would cause his grey skinned eyelids to blink as he painfully looked up into the glowering eyes of what should be a fellow Forsaken. The skin was blue and whole for the most part with ragged bits of hair hanging loosely from his head. He stood straight and tall, with bright yellowed eyes staring back him. A missing jaw and tightly wrapped black linen made sense as to why there had been no words.
New dead. Angry dead. Hungry dead.
A finger would jab at him and then upwards, a silent order from the silent figure but clear enough for Alfred. The following rough shove would send the armored dead shuffling forward, his body creaking and clanking from the metal that covered up his emaciated form as much as it held him together. Same as it ever was. Always marching on.
But it didn't matter. Nothing did anymore.
His dull eyes would close in some feeble desperate hope to keep her visage in his heart. It had been so long since he'd seen the beautiful savior and would be forever if he'd ever see her again. The world was all the more colorless without the smirking visage of his Dark Lady. Now he was just a tool for the next heavy hand. Just like for 'him' before his rescue.
Same as it ever was.
@sanguinesorceress
