Original. Prophet of Doom. Supplication
Title: Our Father
Author: Zombz
Claim: General
Fandom: Prophet of Doom
Plot: 1. Supplication.
Genre: Hetero
Summary: Pawn of the gods, Cassandra prays.
Rating: G
Word count: 538
Warnings: Mentions of death?
Author's Note: Back to the beginning. Introspective look at Cassandra.
Cassandra worshipped no god.
She was a vessel for the gods and nothing more. A pawn in whatever cruel games they decided to play. She was nothing more than their mouthpiece, their puppet, their Prophet. She never saw them and never knew for certain why she received the horrible visions she received. Partly she thought it must be some sort of punishment for something. People call the Sight a gift but in reality no one should ever accept a gift of that kind. Cassandra had never been offered a chance to refuse, however. It was thrust upon without rhyme or reason. She didn’t even know which god she should be thanking for her Sight. She didn’t even know that much.
The pale, skeleton of a girl stared up at shrine to the gods where the villagers had taken her. They wanted her to talk to them. They wanted a miracle. They wanted the impossible. Her grey eyes wandered the unfeeling stone faces that were carved into the walls. One for every god. How had there been enough space? There was a god for everything and yet Cassandra could not find one that she related to. She couldn’t even find one that she would have liked to talk to. They all were so above her. So different and distant. It was a long shot to even hope that one could understand anything she was going through. It was an even longer shot to think one might sympathize with her. After all, it was those horrid stone faces that had sent her on this journey.
She turned to look around at the waiting and eager faces of the gathered peasants. Her presence here was probably the highlight of their lives. A visit from the messenger of the gods. Cassandra attempted to swallow the lump that was slowly growing bigger in her throat. These people looked at her with such belief, such faith. They loved their gods. Gods that Cassandra often shed tears over in frustration and anger. Gods that she looked at as hurtful beings. She could see Phil standing in the back of the shrine and away from everything. He leaned against the wall lazily and with some degree of disrespect. It made her want to smile. These weren’t Phil’s gods either. His was another from a different religion. His was a god that she knew little about and one he kept to himself. There really was a god for everyone.
But there was no god for Prophets. Whether it was on purpose or a grave mistake that was the fact of the matter. The Prophets, who served the gods and did their earthly bidding, had no one of their own to pray to. A prophet’s prayers were general and vague and therefore never answered. Turning back to the alter Cassandra placed her hand on the prayer stone and closed her eyes. Vomit crawled in her throat as she felt the visions for the people of the town. Always such horrible visions. She squeezed her eyes shut with the full knowledge her eyes were not the source of the sights. As her mind was assailed by violence and death her heart let out a whisper.
Please, let me be.
Author: Zombz
Claim: General
Fandom: Prophet of Doom
Plot: 1. Supplication.
Genre: Hetero
Summary: Pawn of the gods, Cassandra prays.
Rating: G
Word count: 538
Warnings: Mentions of death?
Author's Note: Back to the beginning. Introspective look at Cassandra.
Cassandra worshipped no god.
She was a vessel for the gods and nothing more. A pawn in whatever cruel games they decided to play. She was nothing more than their mouthpiece, their puppet, their Prophet. She never saw them and never knew for certain why she received the horrible visions she received. Partly she thought it must be some sort of punishment for something. People call the Sight a gift but in reality no one should ever accept a gift of that kind. Cassandra had never been offered a chance to refuse, however. It was thrust upon without rhyme or reason. She didn’t even know which god she should be thanking for her Sight. She didn’t even know that much.
The pale, skeleton of a girl stared up at shrine to the gods where the villagers had taken her. They wanted her to talk to them. They wanted a miracle. They wanted the impossible. Her grey eyes wandered the unfeeling stone faces that were carved into the walls. One for every god. How had there been enough space? There was a god for everything and yet Cassandra could not find one that she related to. She couldn’t even find one that she would have liked to talk to. They all were so above her. So different and distant. It was a long shot to even hope that one could understand anything she was going through. It was an even longer shot to think one might sympathize with her. After all, it was those horrid stone faces that had sent her on this journey.
She turned to look around at the waiting and eager faces of the gathered peasants. Her presence here was probably the highlight of their lives. A visit from the messenger of the gods. Cassandra attempted to swallow the lump that was slowly growing bigger in her throat. These people looked at her with such belief, such faith. They loved their gods. Gods that Cassandra often shed tears over in frustration and anger. Gods that she looked at as hurtful beings. She could see Phil standing in the back of the shrine and away from everything. He leaned against the wall lazily and with some degree of disrespect. It made her want to smile. These weren’t Phil’s gods either. His was another from a different religion. His was a god that she knew little about and one he kept to himself. There really was a god for everyone.
But there was no god for Prophets. Whether it was on purpose or a grave mistake that was the fact of the matter. The Prophets, who served the gods and did their earthly bidding, had no one of their own to pray to. A prophet’s prayers were general and vague and therefore never answered. Turning back to the alter Cassandra placed her hand on the prayer stone and closed her eyes. Vomit crawled in her throat as she felt the visions for the people of the town. Always such horrible visions. She squeezed her eyes shut with the full knowledge her eyes were not the source of the sights. As her mind was assailed by violence and death her heart let out a whisper.
Please, let me be.