「Of Halos and Youth」

by Ghost Fri Feb 03, 2012 3:30 pm

Request: Kingy devours angels as sustenance

A/N : This was supposed to be a three-shot with some sort of plot but it flopped and died on me and you guys only have the first chapter. >A< I wanted to write more on how to cook and eat Angels but...

Thank you Torry, for beta-ing. You're an awesome beta >u< -leaves lava cookies for-

「Of Halos and Youth」

Something burns.

It is not his queen's cooking, no, nor is it his attempts at brewing potions. It is under his skin, his scalp, his mind; a constantly flaring and prickling sensation that reminds him of what he had yet to give up, yet to offer. It shifts and shudders, slithers through his veins and settles in his bones - it reminds.

Even if the Kingdom of Spades is one of Time, Time itself does not stop for its king. The portraits lining the wall along the corridors of his castle are of wizened old men and women, aged thousands of years until the hourglass turns and a new hand is dealt. They stare down at the current deck, wondering hows and whys and silence as the current hand rules with a few hundred years under their belts and the faces of a freshly dealt deck of cards.

'Why,' they whisper. 'Why break tradition?'

No one hears.

The King knows, of course, as well as the Queen and the Jack. They are the ones who saw the new sport come into play - shoot up, high into the skies, into the heavens itself and something falls - and they are the ones benefitting. The annual event is held in their honor, the sweetest game offered up straight to their plates. They cannot say no; not after generations have accepted the sport so wholly into their culture - not after it became so integrated, too deep to pull out. Time passes too fast.

(Brutes, the people of the Diamonds call them.)

(Defilers of the skies, the churches of the Hearts hisses, and prays for themselves.)

(The Clubs smile and say nothing.)

The taste itself is exquisite. The (plucked) wings are best marinated in wine, broiled and garnished with a few slices of lemons. The meat is tender and soft, pale white and salmon pink, deftly handled by the families of the finest chefs in the castle in varieties of ways. The organs are given to the Jack, who stews and boils and braises them in herbal soups and murky bases. The halo is shattered and quickly collected, sprinkled with sugar or sauces and offered as a snack or dessert. It is a exclusive delicacy.

A month after the first, the effect shows. They wake up to baby smooth skin, and not a single wrinkle in sight. Their muscles and ligaments that often throbbed and protested with the stress of ruling a kingdom are relaxed, and a comb through their heads reveals no grey hairs. They are young again and they know why.

The highest of their court attempted to curry favor with this revelation, insisting that they try this one, the wings were simply majestic; that one, it was flying over the mountain borders and you know how strong the wind is; how about another one, your Majesties, are you full? One after the other the people followed, as an effort to gain social standing and benefits; the whole kingdom was in a scramble to take advantage of the situation and power shifted and turned.

But all sorts of situations had to end and end it did. It started small, unnoticeable, but it was there. The physicians were approached, the churches, that dared to stay, were went to and finally the Jack looked into it himself. The burning becomes more insistent, more distracting and the Jack was at his wit's end until finally, they dine.

The entire incident was hushed up, and the reason for their youth given as the blessing of the gods, if any were left. Time passes yet again, lies become truths and new people replaces the old. But every year, the sport still remains, and hundreds are shot down by then.

So they live on, waiting for the next turn of the hourglass, but for now, forever young.