1 A Burning Portrait in 11.5 Moon

Sirius hadn't yet registered it, but he had been holding the same breath for the past two minutes as he stared anxiously at the cityscape below him. Sat atop an apartment building, he had a perfect view for several miles of the glowing lights. Between his fingers danced a quarter as he listened to the idly whistling wind and the persistent whirring of car engines. A few stars pierced through the sky as well, adding an extra layer of depth to this otherwise beautiful scene.

It was only as his head began to grow fuzzy due to a lack of oxygen that he finally realized he had not yet let out the long drawn inhale, and so he finally released it shakily. Sirius had a horrific feeling in his stomach. He made a mistake. This was all a mistake, he knew it was, and he knew that he had a shot at undoing it all, at maybe redeeming himself. But he didn't want to stop it. He wanted to relish in the fruits of his labor, he wanted to prove to those around him that he wasn't just another pushover. He wanted to be right, just this once.

This did not feel right. He didn't have that euphoric burst he was expecting, and instead a familiar feeling of being unwound overcame him. It started at the front of his skull and in his fingertips as he began to shake lightly. The quarter slipped between his fingers and fell silently to the ground below as his right hand found its way to his left palm, and he began digging his nails into the flesh. His breathing went from slow and dreadful to erratic and unstable.

His mind was filled with flashes of indescribable imagery, colors inexperienced by any other being in the universe. An immaculate song of incomparable clarity filled his head, the melody haunting and sweet and melancholy and joyous and energetic and somber all at once. The world around him was bleak, colorless when compared to this grand portrait painted by his mind. Eyes blinded by the light which radiated from within the man's trench coat filled the skies, the stars cowering away from the darkness his inky black hair released. Wings of bone lifted him into the sky, his arms nailed to a cross and a crown of thorn placed upon his brow. His throat cut open to reveal a cacophony of sight and smell. Around him his peers fell to their knees, chained above him with crowns of gold and shackles of indentured servants. The back of his skull melted open to reveal a swirl of color, growing into indescribable eldritch horrors that could put Lovecraft to shame. Kings of old bred with cryptids and beings of mythos. The empty plane around Sirius slowly took to flame as he flew deeper into the earth.

A burning sensation filled his eyes as Sirius quickly blinked, and looked at his left hand to see his palm gushing blood, his right fingers covered in the nectar. He looked back out to the city, grounded in reality once again. It had happened again, but it felt even more real than before. The intensity of the episodes had been skyrocketing, and he knew there was an undeniable correlation between their intensity and his own stability and rationale.

He looked down to see he was standing on the ledge of the building, with even the slightest breeze having the capability to send him cascading down to the ground, releasing his soul from the prison of his body, and the hellscape of his world. Sirius forced his hands to his side, the blood keeping his hands warm on the freezing night. Slowly his gaze raised upwards to see the skyline once again. The sun would not rise for another two hours or so, but the city was already aglow with fire. Hundreds of little buildings all orange with flame, with the faint sirens of police and firemen fading into the scene. Outstretched the arms of Sirius as a wicked smile befell his face as he appraised his work.

"It's beautiful!" He cried into the silent sky, the cold piercing every part of his body, his fingers falling numb to the atmosphere. Now, they'd all see, they'd all be proven wrong. No longer would Sirius wear the crown of fools, and no longer would he serve as a stepping stone in everyone else's journey to greatness. His fists closed, his icy flesh feeling practically like bone as he released a horrific laugh into the sky.

"We're beautiful!" He screamed, causing the bluster to calm in reverence. The piles of rubble stacked higher and higher, the souls of the damned revealing themselves to Sirius. The whispering in his ears turned into a screaming, the silence of the night as deafening as the soon-to-arrive sirens. Black tears began to fall from his eyes, the Son of the Seventh Satan approaching his pinnacle. A burning heat filled his body as he struggled to breath. Steel yourself, we know this isn't real.

The heat slowly funneled into his left hand as Sirius felt the subtle dripping of the blood onto the roof of the building beneath him. He looked down at the city once again, releasing an anxious breath. His arms fell down to his sides once more, before he carefully stepped backwards.

"Not tonight."