God's Will"'Sunlight in the hair,' he whispered, 'and the blue sky fixed forever in your eyes.' He seemed almost meditative as he looked at me. His breath had no smell whatsoever, nor did his body, it seemed. The smell of mold was coming from his clothes."
- Lestat de Lioncourt (The Vampire Lestat)
How kind of God, Francis thinks darkly. He bites back a cry or a curse? when he stumbles across another one. Another somebody, with rotting black flesh. Somebody, whoever the hell he is. Or she? Francis spits, his scant saliva landing near the cadaver.
Where are those gravediggers when they're needed?
Dead, perhaps. Most likely.
I'll probably be next, he thinks, gloomily, bitterly, as he ambles forward.
His own skin is withered black, putrid flesh roasting with the crows. What in hell did the people do to deserve this? at least some must be spared for Judgment Day.
He tries to spit again, fails horribly. All that is achieved is the suppression of a g