Stand face to face with your god
How startling this turn of events.
How long ago was it that they were pressed so close?
How long ago since she promised him the stars?
Since she told him she’d take him to the place where things ended?
And now she is vowing to kill him and he’s practically begging her to, folding beneath her will. And there is something in it that disgusts her so completely that she releases him, recoils. For the space of a breath, she hates him.
Only days before she had loved him, spared him from her wrath, loved him because he worshipped her.
But she hates him, too, for the power he’d had over her. The way he’d been able to hurt her. (She is too distracted by her hate to notice the way that the flesh has begun to stitch itself back together, using the ice leftover just beneath the surface of her skin.) She hates him for lying to her, insisting he hadn’t known what happened when he’d spit his poison at her. (And where had the poison come from anyway? Something’s changed.)
Her sides heave and her nostrils flare as she watches him fold, bleeding. Blood, everywhere the blood. She is equal parts disgusted and horrified. Any moment, she thinks, she will awaken from this nightmare and he will be there, watching diligently and she will laugh her stardust laugh and tell him how blood had poured from his mouth and his eyes. How he’d choked on it.
“Obelisk,” she says sharply, taking a half-step toward him.
She hates him, certainly. But she will not watch him die, not like this.
She reaches down to nudge him, still unaware of the new way she has changed. There is not enough ice left beneath the surface of her skin to rescue him from the throes completely, but perhaps there is enough to take the edge off, enough to allow him to breathe.
@[obelisk]