Weisa — EP15 Journal

Blood. What a curious material. How it pumps through us and moves us. How it spills out in floods. How it sprays and trickles. It's quite an art to watch something die in a battle. It's quite another thing entirely to watch dozens fall at your feet. To see how the blood curdles and rusts and pools under their bodies. How it stains the cheek and mats the hair, how sticky it is, how much its odor burns and the startling energy it emits. Blood. This gift from the gods that blesses us all with vitality so easily turns into a mess to be cleaned up. There has been no time to process the gore of this moment. The loss, the limbs, the cries. My devotion protects me. The blood in Lord Titus veins have synced up with my own as if we were one snake. You are the fang, and I am the rattle. And as he bites, I keep moving in an absurd way. The simplicity of this moment is relieving. My mind is clear. My body is in action. There's no time for fear. Only time to be alive. I hear my own pulse in my ears and it's the sound of all of us fighting, breathing. Alive. May we persist. May we live.