The careful, meticulous paintbrush of Harvey Escher dabs a touch of black paint onto his latest creation. A black rabbit stands on its hind legs, reaching out towards a crown that dangles in the air just out of its reach.
“One is never more alive than the moment they’re about to die.”
The black rabbit stands upon a mountain of white rabbits which lie face down, the black rabbit using their backs to reach out towards the crown.
“There is such beauty in that moment, when one realizes their own mortality. Such electric power that flows over you when you have a life literally in your hands.”
A flick of red paint splatters the white rabbits.
“In that moment, they already know that it is too late for them. That hopelessness, it is a drug and I… its addict.”
A second splatter of red.
“I saw that very look in her eyes as the light began to fade from your sister, Amataga. The hopelessness as she realized that her struggles were in vain, the powerlessness of realizing her final moments were upon her.”
Escher looks upon the black rabbit, still an arm’s reach away from the crown.
“Hahahaha!”
The diorama is lifted from its table and carried across Escher’s cell.
“It is a memory one does not forget. But it is not reserved for the weak. I saw that same look within your brother’s eyes. I saw it in Aster Grey’s eyes. In Jiro’s as my blade hit home … and I finally saw it in your eyes Tuga.”
Escher busies himself adjusting the direction of a light that he shines upon his creation, trying to find the perfect angle.
“Oh, the humanity. Masked behind a demon’s façade. I saw it, and I will see it again. For it matters little the mask you wear to hide your fear of dying, the eyes reveal your fear in the end when you submit to your fate.”
The light hits the diorama, shining through a stained glass window. Enough light to illuminate what had been till now hidden in shadows. Stalking in the corner of the scene… A fox, haunched and ready to pounce.
“The Prophet’s Light illuminates Like a holy beacon. But it is not the dark rabbit it illuminates. When the Fox hears the rabbits scream, he comes a-runnin’, but not to help. He too seeks that fear in the eyes as the rabbit realizes…”
The Fox’s eyes are trained on one figure in the scene, the black rabbit.
“When the fox has the rabbit by the throat, it is already too late. Prophet, you, like all the others, see yourself as King, reaching out for the crown. Powerful and full of life behind your microphone. But it is not the rabbit that needs to be feared but what lies in wait. The Fox in the shadows. That which has killed more than any other down within these sub-Arcadian halls. I hunt again, for that emphatic feeling.
When I find it, that realization of fear in your eyes, and I will… I will already be King of the Damned.”