The Queen of Shapes, Triumph Of

[FeiH]

IX. THE TREACHERY OF YX'LTAN

And so it was, in the time of the betrayal, that all the Court was in attendance. The whistling din of their world-reachers died one after another as the trial commenced. Heading the proceedings was the Time-Bastard Yx'Ltan, flanked by Lutal Ol-Al the Star-Swallowed and his lieutenant Hoc, the Titan of Age. Before them stood the accused, swaddled in the holy vestments and veiled in runes binding and final. The court had reached a decision long before this spectacle commenced.

"The accused has been found guilty," Yx'Ltan said, his words mangling the air in a strained bellow, "Guilty of our most capital crime. To raise a hand to another in anger, to destroy one utterly and completely, to consign their essence to the aether."

"The accused has been found guilty," Ol-Al said, his words dangling in the air gentle as spider's silk, "Guilty of treason, of heresy, of destroying the very laws that dictate our survival. The accused has writ the essence of Being into form, cursing the veil with profane notation. To befoul our speech with the burden of existence, to bind it in what is solid and known and logical."

"The accused has been found guilty," Hoc said, her words ringing out all at once in a single note before unfurling in the minds of the listeners. "Guilty of blasphemy. To deny our existence most divine, to conspire with the ephemeral, to peek beyond the veil and make contact with the stars beyond."

"Tell me, accused? How do you plead?" Yx'Ltan spoke, the walls of the asynchronous halls throbbing with his anger. His fourth and fifth lips curled into a smile as his fingers danced across the wrinkled surface of his brow. The binding cloth did not move, the malformed shape beneath quivering softly as though in a breeze. Then the being spoke, words blackening the walls as accursed writing came into form. Coiling around the floors and walls like snakes, the speech bloomed outwards as the gathering screamed and tumbled over one another in panic.

“So unrefined, this shape. Unholy are it’s edges and vertices; shallow are the precipices, the pinnacles middling. You wrap yourself in the dying womb of our allmother, content to rot within these fetid halls. You do not desire power. You do not desire creation. You only seek life empty and hollow. You dull yourselves to no logical end.

This will not do; from its hideous patchwork I shall fashion a new universe, cut to perfection, in a shape of my choosing. In my new world I shall stand alone."

Thus, the accused broke from her bonds. She spoke a word and her lesser siblings' flesh burned away. She spoke another word and muscle pulled from bone in straight, unbroken lines. With every word her family fell, unraveling as she laid bare their existence. She spoke their meaning into words, and the words into writing, and the writing into reality - lines of essence stretching and intersecting, painting the walls with the pure mathematical expression of their terror. Blood pooled beneath her tendrils, a well of ink to record her ghastly equations and diagrams. Her red shapes. Her geometry.

Finally, peace. Finally, rejoicing. Finally, purpose.

Edited January 15, 2018 by FeiH

[Brobotnick]

Dark, sanguine and artful. A delightful read!

[enejaner]

I think I just lost 6 points of sanity.