[ Julius is the clear grace of still water against a backdrop of flame, his solemn quiet tempering the windstorm—a great tumult of things—which brewed in the Director's body, manifest now only as tears. Saline, welled at the corners of golden eyes gone glassy and over-bright with the poignancy of loss and heartache for all those left behind, the people who would see the billows of black smoke rising high into the Leithian sky and know what it meant.
Somehow, it is difficult for him to walk away. As though his feet were rooted into the earth, well into the space where everything is linked together (everything before and everything after), he is slow to take his leave, his footsteps heavy with mourning.
Julius, in his silence, is a kind man. Were he left to his own devices, the Director may have very well been driven to do something heedless and impulsive, making his cry for answers known.
(And in their agony, perhaps some would have followed. Joined in his crusade for justice. But now is not the time for such things—not yet.) ]
Tell me, what do you make of this? [ As an Enforcer, someone with blood on their hands. A man who, perhaps, does not yet know he is not defined by the things he has done in the past, but by the reflection he casts in the present. ] What is there to be gleaned from so much death?
no subject
Somehow, it is difficult for him to walk away. As though his feet were rooted into the earth, well into the space where everything is linked together (everything before and everything after), he is slow to take his leave, his footsteps heavy with mourning.
Julius, in his silence, is a kind man. Were he left to his own devices, the Director may have very well been driven to do something heedless and impulsive, making his cry for answers known.
(And in their agony, perhaps some would have followed. Joined in his crusade for justice. But now is not the time for such things—not yet.) ]
Tell me, what do you make of this? [ As an Enforcer, someone with blood on their hands. A man who, perhaps, does not yet know he is not defined by the things he has done in the past, but by the reflection he casts in the present. ] What is there to be gleaned from so much death?