What holds us back

The winged key glides it’s steady blade into the hole that unites the matching set to regain it’s access. The guide users the lone man to his fate in the dark chapel of a hallway. The man gives his guide the look of the sinner repenting on the cross and his eyes plead for mercy. The guide shakes his head. They both know that this is the ultimate course of the man’s actions; There is no turning back from here. The man swallows his fate and walks forth in to the depths of the complex, never to return while in his flesh.

The dull clapping of his feet on the time worn stone echoes around him till it becomes the very beating of his heart. He will not lose heart however; this is the path he has chosen. This is the course he has selected. He will not detour himself, despite how the silence and echoes haunt him. His fate is unchallenged.

The key to the nexus of winding halls was pulled out of it’s sheath that is his pocket. It slid into the lock like it was greased even though the lock had not been touched by human hands in almost twenty years. The ancient halls and the door had acquired the most fine layer of dust, like that of a house left for a vacation. Indeed, this would become the final home for his body. The door glided on it’s hinges silently. In to the heart the man walked forth.

He stepped to the pedestal in the center of the room. He grasped the handle of the blade lodged in to it’s center. It gave effortlessly. The man swung the sword back and forth before turning the attention back toward the task at hand. He grabbed the golden bands form the pedestal and locked them to his wrists and ankles. The were meant to hold his body once his spirit left it. They would do there job well. Then he reclaimed the sword. Shifting the blade carefully, he turned the blade against it’s current master. Then he gave the sword a new sheath in his heart. The world around him was filled with light as the old flesh of his fell down to the ground with the sword lodged deep within it’s heart, yet it had not drawn a single drop of blood.

The former man drifted slowly down to the earth letting his paws touch the cool stone. A small tear of remorse for his old ways fell down form his eye and trace the his muzzle before dropping down to the ground form his nose. He turned with inhuman grace, his three tails drifting in chaotic patterns in the air. His humanity would hold him back no longer, even though he would miss it. For now he is a kitsune.