In the House of the Dead.
Death Mask grinned for the thousandth time that day.
Every time he placed one of his masks on the walls, he would feel horrified at the idea of it falling. He had no idea whatsoever about what was happening. All he knew what despite his efforts, it was not working.
He breathed deeply and stopped working on the Temple.
The Cancer Saint sat in the middle of the place. It was cold in there, he noticed. He had never acknowledged it before. Yes, it was the Temple of the Moon, he remembered, for she protected his House. He kept wandering on his thoughts, the moon, the dead, life itself, was all part of whom he was.
He smirked. He did not like feeling related to so many things. But the Moon, meaning he, were the same, were they not? Life and Death. The bright side of the Moon and the Dark. Life and Death, his mind kept repeating.
Death Mask grinned his teeth and clenched his fists in anger. He was death, how was he life, then?
Then he figured it all out.
His masks; the tokens she took from the ones who had died by his hands, were all dead truly. People who had found their time of the eternal slumber at their due moment. Maybe that was exactly what he needed. Some life so they would cling to it and would not fall.
He summoned the Moon inside his Temple. She answered to her Lord and lit the place. He smiled when he saw the masks moving towards the walls, fixing themselves there for the eternity. Death Mask heard them crying in despair, for they were doomed to serve him as their prize now. No rest for them anymore.
Sinners. Innocents. They were all now décor. They were all a moment in the Saints memory of his victories.
However, he could not continue his reveries for he was called to the Pope’s Temple at once, for a mission awaited for him.
He smiled. Soon enough, one more mask was to be hanging on his walls.
Ariadne, December 25, 2005