A/N: I didn’t make an informational post for this one because it’s a one shot. It’s loosely inspired by the song “From Heads Unworthy” by Rise Against (one of my absolute favorite songs by this amazing band). It has a very secret meaning behind it even though it’s a fantasy setting and more or less a fantasy story. See if you can guess what it is and let me know in the comments below! Thanks for reading; see you next week! 😉
They stand in a perfect line before the massive grey structure– shoulder to shoulder with their weapons clutched tightly in their small hands. They glare at the castle with all the contempt they can muster in their identical violet eyes.
Their leader stands in the middle, just a hair taller yet thrice as jaded. He was the first.
The girl on his right with the invisible arms and the missing mouth is the last– they’re going to make sure of that.
The leader takes a step forward, leaving his physical body behind. It crumples to the ground in his absence.
He walks up to the gate, hesitating for a moment before continuing through it.
A lever sits across from him, raised and latched into place. The lever is connected to a mechanism of gears and chains creating pulleys that control the gate keeping them out.
Concentrating every ounce of energy from his ephemeral body into his hand, he reaches for the lever. He hovers only a millimeter above the iron handle, slowly moving downward and bringing the lever with him.
The steel gate rises slowly. He walks back to his group and straight into his physical body. It perks up between the two girls holding him and slowly returns to a standing position.
One by one the group follows him silently into the castle courtyard. Their footsteps on the grey concrete echo against the walls, bouncing to their deaf ears.
A hundred eyes look up at the tallest tower, scanning the single window for movement. A light flickers from the darkness within, seemingly sporadic yet they know what it means. All of them had seen that light.
He is making another one.
They don’t have much time left.
The oldest runs ahead toward the tall door that leads to the tower. The others scatter, clinging to the walls to avoid being seen by him should he move to the window.
One of them, a girl who had been made only a few months ago, walks up to the leader, standing tall beside him. She waits for the boy to acknowledge her before using her six arms and four legs to scale the tower at a speed not unlike a spider.
She stops beside the window, white hair swaying in the slight breeze.
With one of her six arms, she detaches her right eye. The wind whistles in her hollow head, entering through her eye socket and exiting by her ears. She places it at the corner of the window, wedging the small orb into place with little regards for sanitation.
Down below, the other children close their own eyes, using hers to see into the room.
His back is hunched as he stands before a large table. Smoke fills the area above his head but he hardly seems to notice as he reaches for a large sawlike tool. It disappears the moment his hand makes contact with it, probably reappearing somewhere they couldn’t see.
Before him, mostly concealed by his ample frame, is a small, thin body only half formed and white as frost.
He is making another one.
All 23 of them open their eyes simultaneously. The spider girl removes her eye and places it back in her head, dropping to the ground without making a single sound.
With the tallest boy in the lead, the children storm the door to the tower. The sky above them watches their movements, preparing to mourn the loss of their existence as the last one, the second youngest boy, disappears through the door. The grey clouds release their tears as they come to the realization that the children will never be seen again.
The steps beneath their feet are made of the same monochromatic concrete as the courtyard. One child, somewhere between a boy and a girl with a half formed face, flies above the rest, floating weightlessly in the air because they can’t walk like the rest.
Wind whistles through the cracks in the stone walls. It blows past their skinny legs and winds itself around their toes. They cannot feel the coldness of the heartless gale.
They cannot feel anything.
Step after step they climb, each set of footsteps in perfect unison. The same expression lies etched on each of their pale faces: fear, desperation; hopelessness becoming the most prominent of all for each knew their fate.
A door appears at the top of the stairs. The cold white light reflects off the deep red surface, casting crimson shadows across the faces of the leader and the spider girl.
They know that color far too well but it did not bring them comfort this time and never would again. Their crimson sanctuary had been snatched away from them far too soon, each of them sent into a world in which they could not survive.
Their leader pushes open the door, leading the children into his room.
He stands at the same table they had seen him at. On the grey steel surface lies another one of them: the latest one. Her eyes will never open because they had not been given enough time to form.
He knows that, which is why he weeps for them. He cries the tears she never will. He feels the pain she never will. He breathes the air the girl never will.
One by one the children line up before him, marching in the same unison as they had up the stairs. They have to stop him before he makes more of them. That is their mission.
Purple eyes fixate on him.
He looks up.
The wall stares back at him. His reflection bounces off the window and comes back to him. He looks distraught as usual. The same sunken, bloodshot eyes with the deep bags drawn below them. The perpetual frown sewn through his pale pink lips.
The new girl descends from the table and joins the purple-eyed children, instantly welcomed into their ranks. They had not wanted her but she has no other place to go.
They understand that.
His tears continue to fall upon the cold, lifeless corpse as he laments over what he had done.
Another life ended before it could begin.
With one final sob he looks up at the children of his profession.
The children he could not see and never would again.
The children that were not there.
And never would be.