09-03-2014, 05:07 PM
The counting hadn't working for Aria and for a moment he'd wondered what to do. But she must have done something because when he looked up, her eyes had been closed and she was breathing evenly. Well, that was good.
His mind returned to his work, drawing the outlines of the dragons carefully, always wiping, always checking the lines and the bleed. After a bit of time, his perspective shifted, as it always did. Her flesh stopped being flesh. It became a canvas and he was drawing on it. Only it was a living canvas, warm and responsive. And his tool was a gun and needle, jabbing deep into the skin. The tattoos always cost something in blood, a sacrifice for the owner, the pain inflicted and willingly suffered for an eternal image. He felt almost holy as he worked, the priest placing the communion wafer in the mouth, it becoming the blood and the flesh of God as they communed with him.
Time drifted by unheeded.
His mind returned to his work, drawing the outlines of the dragons carefully, always wiping, always checking the lines and the bleed. After a bit of time, his perspective shifted, as it always did. Her flesh stopped being flesh. It became a canvas and he was drawing on it. Only it was a living canvas, warm and responsive. And his tool was a gun and needle, jabbing deep into the skin. The tattoos always cost something in blood, a sacrifice for the owner, the pain inflicted and willingly suffered for an eternal image. He felt almost holy as he worked, the priest placing the communion wafer in the mouth, it becoming the blood and the flesh of God as they communed with him.
Time drifted by unheeded.