Upon The Altar

The setting sun lit up the sky in a blaze of warm orange and fiery red, the air moist and hot. The Cardinal and his men walked listlessly, as if in a funeral procession, hampered by their heavy robes, sweat seeping into the holy garments. Lush green and decadent colour of the sweet smelling gardens veiled them from prying sight.

The sun sunk lower into the horizon.

They followed behind the Pope, who was gifted with the Sight and barely a man. He did not seem to be bothered by the heat or the layers of concealing clothing. Where their eyes were half-mast, focused and unblinking like a snake about to strike, his were bright, innocent, naïve. Even with his satanic visions, he would not see what stood blindly in front of him.

The Cardinal’s men spread out, slowly, inconspicuously. He raised a long knife, the point a hair’s breadth away from the heretic mongrel’s- Pope’s back. The wind quieted, the leaves ceasing their soft restless melody. Triumphantly, the Cardinal plunged the blade in with nary a sound. The boy tried to look back at him, shock written across his face. With no remorse, the older man ripped it out through his side, blood staining the pristine white, slathering the holy ground with sin.

The sun disappeared into blackness. Night had fallen.

.0.

The wheel of Fortune turns

I go down, demeaned

another is raised up

far too high up

sits the king at the summit

let him fear ruin

.0.

A/N: Drabble written to something in the nameless Cardinal’s point of view. Constantinus mentioned this in chapter nine. Having trouble writing chapter ten. In this category so it can match with LPL plus I don’t think it’d match any others.

Lyrics from O Fortuna. They set up the follow-up of this, which will be a longer one shot.