Seeking Quietude

The atrocities that had been done at the Jedi Temple weighed heavily on Seth’s mind as he strode toward his own temple. There, perhaps, he could meditate and find his peace of mind once more, no longer considering his own less than goodly acts. No longer remembering the sadness and confusion of those poor young souls he had taken to the Underworld to find rest and peace. So many of them had been so young, so innocent… They hadn’t understood why one of their own had turned on them, and Seth hadn’t had the heart to explain the evils of the world.

Halfway there, he stopped, looking out over the city and sighed. He wouldn’t find what he was looking for in his temple. There, he would find subservience and worship, and… Yes, that was all very well and good, and he would enjoy it, but there was where he would find reminders of his long lost son, and that… He did not want. Not now, not after having sent so many children to their rest in the Underworld, not after the conversation he had had with the woman who reminded him so much of Julie.

So he moved away from the street that held the temples, instead looking for somewhere quiet where he might find solace from the tortured memories he held and instead where he might be able to gain a sense of peace. Or if not peace, then perhaps just quiet.

He appeared to be nearly lost in his own private thoughts as he walked, but in truth, his mind was open, touching those around him, hearing what the mortals were thinking, tasting the atmosphere of this new home of his.

Her mind was unquiet.

She did not know the Storm Goddess of the X-men well but she envied her at this times. How carthic it must be to beable to see the world express your sorrow, turmoil for you?

Wanda’s existence these last years had been a never ending battle for not simple control but to keep her emotions layered, separate from her...soul.

She wondered if she allowed herself to be medicated it would make the separation less painfully raw to maintain.

At this moment she Truly felt like two separate beings, one ‘on top’ who raged distantly for the dead. And one who watched the her emotional self, waiting willing the desire to change things to penetrate the barrier between them.

She had the power to undo reality, and had the knowledge of why she could not.

The dark scarlet (the color of the blood on your hands, you could save them) wrap cloaked her form disguising her features and figure behind it shouding layers.

The storm and desert god of death was a creature that preferred the darker times; day was as good a time as any, but darkness suited death, allowing it to become a calm, quiet thing instead of something violent or cruel.

He walked quietly, it was possible he might be mistaken for just another man walking the street at nearly twilight except for the shroud of darkness that swirled about him, not threatening, just simply there.

Suddenly, the footsteps that marked his passing slowed and stopped, the man’s head lifting as his eyes fell upon the woman swaddled in wrappings the color of the sunset in its last moments. The turmoil he could sense in her mind was… Magnificent, and startling. A mortal with the power of a goddess. Moving silently now, no longer bothering to mask himself as a mortal, he came to sit beside tis woman, “What do they call you?” He smirked, “Or perhaps, the better question is what do you call yourself, who holds such power and burden?”