08-29-2021, 08:54 AM
As she stands before him - shocked, in pain, hurt - they are as stark as night and day. Skandar only knows two options: those who are powerful and those who are not. As the charcoal mare (delicate still, even with the smell of burning flesh, and perhaps even hopeful despite the sorrow of betrayal that haunts her once bright eyes) attempts to fathom the why, Skandar is far beyond the question. There is no reason, truly, save for the fact that she is weak and frail while he is anything but. There is a balance, one that nature has created (gods versus mere mortals) and he is here to ensure it stays that way - to show her that she is the weaker of the two, born to serve and die under his heel, nothing more than an indicator that gods certainly do exist.
And that he was one of them.
They are not friends - they cannot be; for how can a powerful being like himself find solace in such a sorry, sad soul? There is no likeness between them, she cannot understand him any more than he can understand her naive trust. She is nothing compared to him, nothing compared to her, and serves no purpose in her presence. His purpose, however, has been clearly stated - she is beneath him and he above her. Perhaps there is not even a need for him to smile the way he does (should he take pleasure in the way the world is created, in how he was born into greatness and she into mere ordinary circumstances?), but he is young and it is thrilling, despite its natural order.
She staggers away from him, confusion still in the stark jade of her eyes. How does she not understand? She is but a blip among others, easily forgotten and lost. He, however, is far from such a description. “You’re a foolish girl,” he murmurs, almost sympathetically (for how can she help it?) though the smile on his handsome face barely fades. “Gods don’t waste their time with fools, Avelina.” Skandar pauses, thoughtful as his orange and burning eyes narrow, that red glow once again resurfacing with a terrible, high-pitched hum.
“The second you forget that, I’ll be there to remind you.”
And that he was one of them.
They are not friends - they cannot be; for how can a powerful being like himself find solace in such a sorry, sad soul? There is no likeness between them, she cannot understand him any more than he can understand her naive trust. She is nothing compared to him, nothing compared to her, and serves no purpose in her presence. His purpose, however, has been clearly stated - she is beneath him and he above her. Perhaps there is not even a need for him to smile the way he does (should he take pleasure in the way the world is created, in how he was born into greatness and she into mere ordinary circumstances?), but he is young and it is thrilling, despite its natural order.
She staggers away from him, confusion still in the stark jade of her eyes. How does she not understand? She is but a blip among others, easily forgotten and lost. He, however, is far from such a description. “You’re a foolish girl,” he murmurs, almost sympathetically (for how can she help it?) though the smile on his handsome face barely fades. “Gods don’t waste their time with fools, Avelina.” Skandar pauses, thoughtful as his orange and burning eyes narrow, that red glow once again resurfacing with a terrible, high-pitched hum.
“The second you forget that, I’ll be there to remind you.”
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Avelina