AN: This will be the last chapter for about a month. I will be returning to America soon and am spending this time packing and studying for my exams over here. Just so you don't think I am abandoning you, there are two more chapters until this fic is finished.
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Rules of Dogma
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The thin black slit of an eye stared vacantly from the purest white sea of smooth flawless alabaster. The large fragment was unmarred and only the upper left section of the face was missing. And without that portion, the mask was immaculate. The red silk stretched beneath the pristine lines of white, a softly rippling bed for rest, provided a gab between the unmarked white and the puzzle-piece lined with shades of gray. Together and separate the pieces laid on the silk lined and cushioned tray.
A black lid snapped shut. A pale white hand closing the clasps. And lingered on the last silver fastener before finally locking it closed.
Rule number one of Dogma: never forget that which is considered sacred.
The ebony handle glared through the ivory fingers. Catching the light as though hailing the unseen patrons. Winking at the non-existing passersby. Silver flashed in the golden halos glowing in the dark corridors. The light was scarce and eagerly grabbed by the patches of white. The mat black case achieved its own semblance of gloss as it passed through the lit spheres.
The elegance with which the fingers lightly held the smooth solid handle proclaimed a deep set care for the contents within. Slightly curved and securely gripped, the hand caressed the fine grained wood where sleek fastenings glittered. It was a loving hand which had possession of the sacred. The one clear shape grasping the handle.
Rule number two of Dogma: that which is believed cannot be discarded.
Soiled when compared to the pure white, the ivory velvet removed the alabaster white from the bed of red silk. The movement was reverent, sorrowful. The lines of shifting gray floated, unsettled, among the varying milky shades. Winking silently the glossy glistening of the grays and silvers, never a single shade, the marked eye kept a mute watch over the proceedings. Soundlessly guarding the secrets of the fates of the past.
Warmly the cold tools freed one slender mercurial bar. With digits equally slender, the wash of silver mixed grays was gently lain on a soft cushion of red velvet. It had been the least of the trinity. The one set aside while the power raged through the two others. Alone the swimming silver bar meant much more. With three, it was lost. On the crimson like its superior companions still inset on the see of white, the sheer force of will emanated with unfounded strength.
Tender care brought the small fragment from the fields of cream to return the broken marred section to its resting place on the scarlet silk. The sallow, empty eye faced up without seeing. Vacant and incomplete.
The same careful attention lifted the immaculate white portion of the face from the final resting place onto the soft folds of velvet. There it remained until an equally unmarked puzzle-piece was brought beside it. The two slid together seamlessly. Perfect matches. They were content to stay with each cracked groove filled by the other's presence. But the piece was taken all too soon, leaving the original merged in the creamy shades.
Rule number three of Dogma: what remains becomes renewed.
The blank white puzzle-piece was firmly in place now. A hairline fracture was all that marked the new face as different from the old. That and there was not a thing marring the pure white surface. A thumb smoothed the line, gently vanishing the fracture from sight. Finally healing what had been broken by that self same hand.
In the light as it looked at itself for the first time since recreation, it watched the golden halos wash over the soft curving lines, uninterrupted.
The spells were whole again. No longer broken or torn. Sleeping, waiting. From the soft red velvet, a lone hematite bar glistened in anticipation. Its purpose was plain. It was the last component for the desired spells to be awoken. Eagerly it waited for its moment.
Horizontal, just below the right eye, it sat, balancing on the curvature of the cheek. It waited as the alabaster softened and melted, letting it sink into its embrace. The stone curve in accordance with the surface topography so that there was no irregular hitch along the face. Secured in the knowledge the main task had been completed, the solid quicksilver settled into place comfortably.
All that remained was the final fitting to the face that it new so well. The face that it molded to flawlessly.
Rule number four of Dogma: never fail to believe the truths set for the self.
Looking through plain slit eyes, the the stark whiteness glowed with pride at once again being whole. It felt complete and whole against the warm skin. The reflection on the mirror surface did little to show the emotion welled behind that face. The human eyes were looking upon a new self. One removed from the old.
Now ready to reform, it looked back on the lost brothers. One retaining bindings to another being, strong magic not present in the current self. The other empty of power, a single stone set deep in the cracked white. All life had vanished, the binding spells released, leaving nothing but solid hematite. Now all active spells centered on the self. The newly set, newly created face.
For a last time true eyes glimpsed the fragment as human hands shut the black case. Silver clasps. The hands placed it on a top shelf. It's future unknown. From there the ties to the recent past remained hidden, lost to all inquisitive eyes. And there it would rest for eternity.
....................................
Rules of Dogma
....................................
The thin black slit of an eye stared vacantly from the purest white sea of smooth flawless alabaster. The large fragment was unmarred and only the upper left section of the face was missing. And without that portion, the mask was immaculate. The red silk stretched beneath the pristine lines of white, a softly rippling bed for rest, provided a gab between the unmarked white and the puzzle-piece lined with shades of gray. Together and separate the pieces laid on the silk lined and cushioned tray.
A black lid snapped shut. A pale white hand closing the clasps. And lingered on the last silver fastener before finally locking it closed.
Rule number one of Dogma: never forget that which is considered sacred.
The ebony handle glared through the ivory fingers. Catching the light as though hailing the unseen patrons. Winking at the non-existing passersby. Silver flashed in the golden halos glowing in the dark corridors. The light was scarce and eagerly grabbed by the patches of white. The mat black case achieved its own semblance of gloss as it passed through the lit spheres.
The elegance with which the fingers lightly held the smooth solid handle proclaimed a deep set care for the contents within. Slightly curved and securely gripped, the hand caressed the fine grained wood where sleek fastenings glittered. It was a loving hand which had possession of the sacred. The one clear shape grasping the handle.
Rule number two of Dogma: that which is believed cannot be discarded.
Soiled when compared to the pure white, the ivory velvet removed the alabaster white from the bed of red silk. The movement was reverent, sorrowful. The lines of shifting gray floated, unsettled, among the varying milky shades. Winking silently the glossy glistening of the grays and silvers, never a single shade, the marked eye kept a mute watch over the proceedings. Soundlessly guarding the secrets of the fates of the past.
Warmly the cold tools freed one slender mercurial bar. With digits equally slender, the wash of silver mixed grays was gently lain on a soft cushion of red velvet. It had been the least of the trinity. The one set aside while the power raged through the two others. Alone the swimming silver bar meant much more. With three, it was lost. On the crimson like its superior companions still inset on the see of white, the sheer force of will emanated with unfounded strength.
Tender care brought the small fragment from the fields of cream to return the broken marred section to its resting place on the scarlet silk. The sallow, empty eye faced up without seeing. Vacant and incomplete.
The same careful attention lifted the immaculate white portion of the face from the final resting place onto the soft folds of velvet. There it remained until an equally unmarked puzzle-piece was brought beside it. The two slid together seamlessly. Perfect matches. They were content to stay with each cracked groove filled by the other's presence. But the piece was taken all too soon, leaving the original merged in the creamy shades.
Rule number three of Dogma: what remains becomes renewed.
The blank white puzzle-piece was firmly in place now. A hairline fracture was all that marked the new face as different from the old. That and there was not a thing marring the pure white surface. A thumb smoothed the line, gently vanishing the fracture from sight. Finally healing what had been broken by that self same hand.
In the light as it looked at itself for the first time since recreation, it watched the golden halos wash over the soft curving lines, uninterrupted.
The spells were whole again. No longer broken or torn. Sleeping, waiting. From the soft red velvet, a lone hematite bar glistened in anticipation. Its purpose was plain. It was the last component for the desired spells to be awoken. Eagerly it waited for its moment.
Horizontal, just below the right eye, it sat, balancing on the curvature of the cheek. It waited as the alabaster softened and melted, letting it sink into its embrace. The stone curve in accordance with the surface topography so that there was no irregular hitch along the face. Secured in the knowledge the main task had been completed, the solid quicksilver settled into place comfortably.
All that remained was the final fitting to the face that it new so well. The face that it molded to flawlessly.
Rule number four of Dogma: never fail to believe the truths set for the self.
Looking through plain slit eyes, the the stark whiteness glowed with pride at once again being whole. It felt complete and whole against the warm skin. The reflection on the mirror surface did little to show the emotion welled behind that face. The human eyes were looking upon a new self. One removed from the old.
Now ready to reform, it looked back on the lost brothers. One retaining bindings to another being, strong magic not present in the current self. The other empty of power, a single stone set deep in the cracked white. All life had vanished, the binding spells released, leaving nothing but solid hematite. Now all active spells centered on the self. The newly set, newly created face.
For a last time true eyes glimpsed the fragment as human hands shut the black case. Silver clasps. The hands placed it on a top shelf. It's future unknown. From there the ties to the recent past remained hidden, lost to all inquisitive eyes. And there it would rest for eternity.