12-28-2022, 08:45 PM
lord, I fashion dark gods too;
He learned the art of brutalization far before he learned anything else. Those other lessons came later, the gradual realization of the sweetness in delaying gratification, in making them bow of their own free will rather than breaking their knees to see them there. He still finds entertainment in the latter, of course, but it’s often an easy entertainment, almost cheap. It certainly has its time and place, but it is not today. Today is about a more refined game, a game they’ve played for ages now, one with odd rules and blurred lines and only occasional bloodshed.
(The image of her, dead on the mountain, immune to his magic, flashes briefly across his thoughts before he puts it away. Gail is not here, and besides, he learned a lesson from that, and he has not killed her since.)
He lets her touch him, lets their bodies meet, the warm thrum of blood pounding in his ears. Desire swells within him, and for just a moment he is lost in her, his latest game forgotten. He holds on to that feeling for just a moment, a wafer melting on the tongue, and then he pulls away, recenters himself.
He brings forth the gift, his own private joke – a statue crafted in his image, an idol, a throwaway piece of magic. He has not forgotten his own time spent imprisoned in a similar enough statue, the maddening press of the stone, a fleeting defeat that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things – he’s here, they aren’t – but one that niggles at him, nonetheless.
“I can’t rule beside you,” he says, voice low, “but I thought you might benefit from my company, on occasion.”
The statue is largely useless, of course – he’s linked enough to her that it may follow, though perhaps not terribly far. He isn’t sure, he hasn’t tested this particular gimmick much. He doesn’t tell her of its small tricks, not yet – has not decided if he even will, or if he will let her be surprised.
c a r n a g e
@Ryatah sorry to take a hundred years to reply (: