An unearthly silence, one of which not even stagnant breaths dared shatter, a bastille of harrowing serenity, confinement upon the soul of all who bore testimony to Eros's bated breath. The boy's stomach lurched, bubbling, lacerating, mangling at his insides, akin to a ravenous beast that lay imprisoned. It desired to escape, a bloodlust forged solely of macabre, lurid apprehension.
With every second, the youth's mind only further distorted, fracturing akin to myriad shards of glass, stained a vile, foetid shade of carrion. The same dreaded hue that formerly birthed him anew. Fiamma's eyes of ruby appeared to shudder in a spasmodic dance, uncertain, veiled by a profane adumbration, her features contorting as though pained, gangrenous, mouldered by a ruinous nocent stigma.
"Fiamma…Where were you?" Eros mumbled, his eyes of heterochromatic hue inadequate in their venture to befall the beauties every feature, for every motion the youth performed created a noxious bile within his body, one that sought only expulsion, a repugnant, mephitic retch that maimed the pits of his throat, bloodied and coarse, his every utterance, every breath an arduous labour.
"...." Yet to his query, all the youth received was noxious deafness, a muted turn from the beauty bearing the epithet Fiamma, her arm Eros embraced calcifying, her every muscle tensed, a coagulation of blood, one the youth assumed to possess origin of impassioned furore.
"Fi-"
"I was with the council," The girl blurted, her every syllable a wretched throe upon Eros's obscured mounds of flesh. His eyes trembled, distant, lifeless, as though that of a puppet, a marionette bearing neither strings nor handle to control, twin colours that gaze not upon the same realm of ecclesiastic reverence as his Gemini peer, but one of veiled caliginosity, a sunless domain in which hope succumbed to melancholy, a drab, monochrome world, innumerable stygian tendrils transparently embraced the boy's throat, suffocating his every utterance, every thought, anguish the sole foregone emotion that riddled the adolescent's bewitching form. Eros's visage quaked, his skin of snow a petulant, anaemic hue, devoid of blood, of sanguine vivacity.
'She wouldn't, Fiamma didn't. I don't want to go back, I don't want to go back, I don't want to go back, I don't want to go back, I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK!' The youth inwardly screamed, for his throat appeared tumescent, pregnant with the bile of gastric progenitor. Eros's figure, transparently bathed in fluorescence of polychromatic hue, anchored to the mortal realm, yet was without heat, without the blazing impassion of Fiamma's embrace. Instead, the boy felt nought but eerie, cadaverous frigidness, as though divorced from the reality upon which he lay. An absoluteness Eros would soon reconcile with, for Fiamma's mouth, painted in a Lovecraftian shade of indistinct opacity, continued to move.
"They wanted to know what happened in the dungeon…Why we, I mean I, had such difficulty slaying the beast who prevailed over the land." Fiamma continued, her eyes, that of swirling, sovereign ill-fated dread to the youth, glimmering with resplendent compassion, a notion the boy failed to perceive, for his mind lay imprisoned, only to be freed by the beauty's following utterance. "Ah- But I didn't tell them anything about you. I made sure not to make mention of- well, our mutual…you-know, nor how you managed to free yourself from that…thing," The girl bashfully muttered, her face a permanent pigment of scarlet.
Colour. That of vibrant seraphic venerated effulgence, mottled hues, and kaleidoscopic shades bedded the boy, impregnating his every notion with such resplendent radiance tendrils of shadow no longer grasped his person, asphyxiating his form appeared nought bur gastric residue, akin to a flipped switch the boy's body lay still, tranquil, though not out of forced macabre prophecy, but dispassionate wonderment.
"What about my appearance? Did that come up in the discussion?" The youth skittishly probed, his mind momentarily relapsing into a state of tempestuous despair, solely reconciled by Fiamma's half-hearted rebuttal.
"Hmmm~ not really. After all, they've been observing your recovery these past couple of days along with me, bearing witness to the subtle shift in hue upon your person, whether it be your flesh or hair. They've seen it all, though I'm led to believe they think your partial analysis has undergone a change." The girl stated, much to the boy's reverent exuberance, after all, it was commonplace in such a world for one's ability to dictate their appearance, an alteration brought forth by the inconceivable potential of one's gift. Still, how the adolescent was going to explain his abortive deviation in "partial analysis" Eros apprehended not, perception of a target's weight or other features remained reticent to him.
"They didn't even make mention of the abhorrent miasma that exuded from the troll's form, merely its size, and even then, they merely breathed a syllable of concern when regarding its latent power", Fiamma continued, her voice fracturable, shattering with every breath that exuded upon her lips, though not out of fear nor embedded trepidation, but ill-disguised, tempestuous, malign acrimony, a demonic hatred. Muted mutters expelled themselves from Fiamma's lips, yet such words were faint, ethereal, flickering combustion of rage bore solely to the limestone walls of the episcopal realm.
"N-now, I-we need to head to class", Fiamma demurely stuttered, pulling upon Eros's conjugated joint, his arm that embraced hers with feigned impassioned eroticism, a craving brought forth from the depths of Fiamma's sultry mind. Ardent screams echoed amidst the episcopal domain, though they erupted nought from body nor origin of voice, instead possessing progenitor from the conjoined pair's frenetic stride, myriad windows, bearing body of veiled cloth eclipsed the dazed youth's heterochromatic gaze, apertures sporting titles, sovereign status, undefiled and paradisiacal, that of classrooms, a realm upon which antecedent the boy dared not wander.
Cadaverous, sloven visages, vagabonds to the concept of time ambled amidst the sectarian corridor, bearing hair of multitudinous shades and bodies voluptuous, visages of girls, their eyes momentarily flickering with embers of destitute longing upon gracing Eros's enchanting figure, their hearts spontaneously releasing sultry palpitations, dreams that would never bear fruit. For with such eyes did they meet Fiamma's, her twin gems of ruby, overcast with stygian shadows, a tempestuous tumultuous bloodlust the sole bastion scintillating from within. The boy graced a land anteriorly blasphemous, one all F-rank espers knew forbidden, yet that of which he transgressed, guided by Fiamma's perverted attack, ceaseless corridors akin to that of a maze transparently sprawled before the boy, of which Fiamma immediately marched, uncaring to the convolute layout she marked as her own.
Minutes passed with an ambience of zealous motions, the solitary noise to befall the boy, however akin to an ineffective flame, such sound soon lay replaced by that of extolled deafness. The pair had stopped, Fiamma's visage lay still, placid in its place before such a monolith, a door, neigh, the structure appeared too grandiose to bear such title, a titanic monument.
A face of iron, wrought, apathetic to the world towered over the couple, its corpse elephantine, grandiose and ostentatious, sporting a height transcending that of five metres, and a length equal if not grander, furnishings of bronze appeared tumescent upon the gargantuan creation, sporting bodies akin to that of sovereign rings, they loomed, low, akin to the primordial sin they tempted, seduced all to pluck upon their visage, embossed studs scintillated in a polychromatic hue, carpeted chaotically on the items behemothic body. A schismatic crevasse transparently loitered, placed perfectly in the centre of the monolith, beckoning for divorce, it croaked with an ear-splitting tone as though berated by ceaseless onslaughts directed entirely on its back.
Wordless utterance escaped Fiamma's lips, merely motion, for her hands, craft of ivory, appeared instantaneously upon the mammoth's disheartening face, negligent to twin rings that demanded favour, Fiamma simply pushed.
*GRAAAAHHHH!* A woeful throe, a hateful mourne, such a cry escaped the bastion's maimed mouth, its face fragmentary, mangled beyond repair, a grating wail of iron upon uncultivated land resonated ceaselessly within Eros's berated mind with lucid clarity. At the same time, fracturable torrents of unblemished, virginal new dawn light enraptured his gaze.