A Scripta

Masonry slowly turned over, feeling something soft and almost liquid caress his body as he moved.  He felt smoothness against his flesh.

His flesh.

He leisurely opened his eyes, focusing on red satin sheets.  He moved slowly, savoring the soft caress of the sheets against his naked body.  He smiled; never before had he felt so pampered, so spoiled, as he had always deserved. He chuckled, "That Twist really knows how to treat a man."

He sat up to look around the room.  There was no other furniture than the huge bed he slept in, nor were there any curtains in te windows.  He tossed the sheet back and walked across the room.  Twist wasn't around when he got out of the bathroom.  He smiled to himself as he went to the window, still naked, and looked out at the Atlas skyline.  Finally, he thought, someone who accepts me for who I am, who doesn't shake their head in sadness when I tell them what I want to do, who in fact wants me to do these things.  Someone who'll treat me the way I should be, who respects me, who adores me, who gave me life.   "And all I have to really do is what I like to do," he said aloud.  He looked at his purple costume, "War Mace".  The new mace he carried looked awkward but floated easily, now that he was filled with new-found strength.  Who cares that the strength probably came from darkness, death and evil?

He then started laughing as his thoughts drifted again to all the things he would do to Star, slowly tearing her wings off one by one, and snapping them between his hands; all the while Twist, standing behind him, cheering him on.

He held up an imaginary goblet and toasted the skyline.  "To a new life.  As it should be."