Markus bled quietly in the darkness and wept.
He wasn’t ashamed of the tears – they were a cleansing release so he willed them to fall to ease the pain. They wouldn’t kill him… not yet, at least. But they could hurt him, so hurt his body they did. Badly. And so he bled.
They’d hurt his friends when they came for him, for Markus has no doubt that his friends WOULD come for him, and people would die and their songs would end and knowing that also hurt. And so he wept.
But the darkness held him gently and allowed his mind to wander, to remember, to compose, to create. And so while his body lay broken and bleeding, and the tears flowed freely, he soared in the limitless beauty of his imagination.
Weeping. And waiting.