Six o'clock, TV hour, don't get caught in foreign towers

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

An August Evening; The Tower

My daughter is ready; and so am I. Matters have come into alignment. There have been various points throughout the history of this little lump of rock when stars, skies, oceans, calendars, however one marks time, have read that this is a time of Ending, rather then Beginning. Many have tried to make use of those times to bring about the end of all things, because ever since Man was made, he has longed to kill himself and others. But despite all the rumours to the contrary, I have not put my shoulder to the wheel of Apocalypse before now. Things have been done in one of my many names, but I have not led those attempts. Now is the time for finishing, and I will begin it. With blood, of course. It is always blood. It will be when the moon is darkest. That time comes soon.

For now, I see one of my acolytes cross the field to speak with me. This man thinks he wants an end to all things, but he barely understands what it is he serves. Poor fool. I am not much given to looking human, at present, but I put on something that will serve. A man's body, aristocratic in bearing. Flame lies just beneath the surface of its glassy skin. I will not be contained for long.

[open to Foxton]
CLOSED

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[mister-foxton.livejournal.com]

In the hall, the Chronophage has stopped. Time has been eaten. The roof is falling in - quite literally, in the attics, with the ticking of deathwatch beetles. Grandmama has gone beyond my reach, and the skulls and jawbones in the Middle Room are all but silent. Mrs Betton is in bed sick, and her wretched cat -

I swallow a little: absurd to be at all moved by its loss. It's hardly as if it's a sign of anything beyond normal animal mortality. Still, I prepared its little body for Mrs Betton's sake, so that it can be a small indistinct presence in the house in these final days.

I wish that I could speak to my father. His skull doesn't answer me. I should stop wavering. This is the hour that we have prepared for, and so I go out to the Tower at last, the Tower that will not yet be shattered, though I can see La Tour Abolie plain in my mind. I was born for this, the last and strangest of us, this final turning of the great Wheel. It will be different, when things begin again.