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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG
Pairing: Er. None here.
Disclaimer: Erk. Not mine.
Notes: Crossover of From Hell and King Arthur.
Summary: Abberline glimpses the past instead of the future. Possibly.
***
There's so many layers caked on this city, and during one pipe or another, Fred's licked the grime from all of them. He's seen fashions change backwards and forward, seen people stay inconstant constants. Though he's never gone this far back before.
Chainmail armor and dark eyes faithfully fixed to a cross hanging crooked on the wall spiral out to a deep green field that soon soaks red with bloody mud. A sword hanging overhead, so close that Fred flinches when it transparently plunges through him to bury its tip in the wet earth (not) staining his bare feet. He finds himself staggering through endless woods whose trunks rush past faster and faster, blurring his vision to long strips of gray that edge into mist. His toes catch on rock and spill blood over the ground; it boils about his feet and rises in crimson steam that soon condenses in the chill atmosphere.
The face is alien, painted with black and dark blue like a bruise on the fog. But the eyes are not, and it is those that wake Fred.
For days afterward, he refuses to look into a mirror.
***