( SON OF A GOD | writing *:･ﾟ✧ )

[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"]a place for my angsty writings :°) i'll try to keep all of my writing in here, but i'm scatterbrained as fUCK so. yeah, welcome. :>

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「the broken god —- *:･✧」

no trigger warnings
word count is 1141 and counting
this is a work in progress
this is lamb's prologue (of sorts) to joining wherever i'm going to place him. i may or may not add this to his post, but it would be in a spoiler because it's going to be long and i don't want to overwhelm people? or, at least, link it here so others have some knowledge on what happened and it gives insight his current feelings. i just. love my son so much and i refuse to lose interest him and want to get some development in for him before he meets his end.

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a strong night breeze pushed itself through the dense trees of the area with greenery swaying from its force and foliage twirling and dancing on the cool soil, light green hued leaves stroking the bare pines of the forest as they fluttered on by, and resting in a new place on the dirt and grass. the faint chirping of the crickets filling the night air as it accompanied the chanting of tongues native to the forgotten for this was a special night; one that they all would remember for days to come. the crackling of fire harmonizes with the symphony of the occasion, reddish orange flames twisting and stretching in a casual fashion as hot finger tips reach towards the dark starry sky, fiery body moving in unity with the steady rhythm of beating drums added in.

plush–almost pouty–soft pink lips part ever so slightly as a faint sigh slid out and tickled the bottom lip, causing another sigh to emerge and entered the air buzzing with the harmonic sounds produced by human and nature. heat radiated off of the flames and lit up solemn features with a bright orange color, giving way to slim structures of the face with little fluff, carrying the look of a youthful teenager than a grown adult. ( a common mistake among those not of the forgotten. ) nearly angelic and breathtaking in appearance had it not been from the broken nose from many fights with sacrifice ( oh, how he loved his brother–even if it caused him the utmost pain and misery at times. ) with the addition of scars created by the jagged rocks and sharp sticks he slammed into and tumbled through for years on end.

( "wonderful and handsome. what's there not to admire and love?" )

it felt like someone was driving a spear through his body in an agonizing pace, ensuring the pain lasted in a cruel, sadistic way, feeling weak in the knees but kept himself steady. lithe figure never swaying or tilting forward in the least bit.

he couldn't cave in.

not now.

tender fingers roam over exposed fair skin as they twisted and turned whilst covering him in intricate designs of their people, not batting an eye at the familiar metallic smell of blood as the dark red liquid stained pure skin, and remained perfectly still to allow them to do their work and listened to quiet whispers following along with the chanting.

could... could he go through this?

( "we could run. run far away. never look back. just you and i." )

it's a wicked desire to wish for the one he yearned for the most; an aching heart beating in melancholy and longing for the touch of another far out of his reach. the young man suppressed the urge to suck in a breath and put his attention on the fire and willed himself to be captivated by its elegant dance. eyes deep brown and rich like the earth's soil filled with endless compassion and welcoming warmth shining their depths, childlike wonder seemingly stuck in them and refusing to move, but there's a sadness in them. one to never leave no matter what he tried to do. forever lingering beneath the curious, benevolent gaze of a kind soul who had a small taste of the cruelties of the violent, corrupted world. virgin ears yet to me touched by honeyed lies and deviant tongues.

dark eyes flickered up at the sound of approaching steps to the scene, whispering fingertips fading away from lamb after finishing their job, and rested his cool gaze on the individual.

a petite woman. one who was taller than him by a few inches. ( nobody ever complained or mentioned his oddly short height of 5'1. after all, the cult considered him a god like his elder siblings. ) a slender face with gentle features and had a skin tone darker than his—light brown skin decorated in designs similar to his and covered in the same blood of the person sacrificed in the beginning of the ritual. equally plush lips, but a tad darker than his as well. she, too, had dark eyes like he and they swirled with excitement, gleaming in the light provided by the fire; speaking of untold desires and the joy of this wonderful moment taking place in her life. contrast to his white hair with streaks of brown in it here and there, hers was jet black like a raven's wing. wavy as the flowing river and luscious curls soft like silk and bright flowers of all sorts woven in to add to the beauty of the women he would soon call his wife.

( "run away with me." )

he couldn't. this was– this was his duty.

( "lamb... please." )

no, no, no, no, no.

( "run away with me." )

dark brows twitch as he forced the muscles in his face from contorting from the internal conflict and perked up at the sound of feet walking up to him, dragging his eyes over to person and watched as they brought forth the beige recorder passed down to him by his father. the woman smiled at him before kneeing down offering it up to him, head bowed with the hushed comment, "here, my lord." 'my lord.' part of him wanted to tell the female there was no need to address him with the title, but held his tongue, knowing fully well how it ended last him be spoke up about it. a quiet mm vibrated in his throat before raising his right arm, balled up fist beating on his chest twice with a brief nod and dainty fingers scarcely touch hers as he took the instrument.

doe eyes stick to the recorder before bringing his head up to look at his future spouse once more and pulled said recorder to his lips. fingers glide over the holes on the barrel of the instrument, thumb resting on the back hole whilst the fingers find their places and temporarily stay there. his heart's pounding hard in his chest, scared it might burst out any second now, yet he remained calm on the surface despite the pain inside. with a deep inhale and subconsciously licking his lips, he breathes into the woodwind instrument, low, melodic tune mixing in the orchestra of the night and beginning the ceremony.

two sets of dark eyes lock on each other whilst the bodies move and twist around the fire, breaking eye contact when lean figures twirled in a full circle, always landing back on each other to maintain the contact when possible. the chanting voices growing louder and the drums as well, causing fingers to move in a quicker pace along the alto recorder, notes faster and higher than before and the occasional breath to prevent himself from being winded.