First Inspiration Monday post of the week (by me anyway). I’ve decided to do a more typical fantasy piece this time since I call myself a fantasy author, but rarely write fantasy anymore besides my book. It’s not one of my best but hopefully you all like it. If you can’t tell, I used the prompt ‘Death’s artwork’.
There were few things in life more exhilarating than free fall, Cyton had discovered that long ago. Now, as he plummeted to the ground, he made no move to snap his great wings back and glide just above the earth. Instead, he continued falling until at the last second, when no other creature could have pulled back, Cyton’s huge red wings shot out and suddenly he was no longer weightless.
Those same great wings, fiery red and over eight feet wide, carried him easily back to a comfortable flying height. One ruby eye remained fixed on the world below. His world. For was he not the greatest of all creatures, ruling over his dominion endlessly?
The picture of stunning beauty, Cyton was the proudest of all creatures Each of his feathers glowed fiery red, never out of place more than a minute. His eyes sparkled with pride and temper like perfectly cut twin garnets. The deadly sharp weapon he called his beak, shone honeyed and golden, striking terror into the hearts of men. He was the symbol of the Sun and her own fiery rebirth every day.
Cyton had always loved the Sun. She was the one thing he valued above himself. Every morning he longed to dance with her, in her rise to dominance over the earth and every night he mourned her and the loss of her throne. So often the phoenix wished to follow her. But he had a duty and he would not fail to carry it out. He would not fail to protect him as requested, but the days of his release were approaching rapidly.
Cyton did not dread the end like other creatures, why should he when he had long ago conquered the man on the dark horse? But he did not like the days of sickness and molting that led to it, nor the growing after his rebirth.
Nevertheless he looked forward to it, longed for it with every fiber of his being. It was majestic beauty incarnate, fierce and untamed. Untainted by the weight of the world. Death was simply death and Cyton would know nothing else during it.
The weeks of molting passed slowly, but in time, pass they always did. Cyton did not regret the slow loss of his splendor, he instead eagerly awaited the fire. And finally, it came. Lighting Cyton with the primitive callings he had so long suppressed. Death and it’s flames consumed him and the phoenix died joyfully. Lit with sparks of pleasure at becoming Death’s artwork once again.