01-04-2016, 12:51 PM
tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us She’d thought she’d had plenty to bear, when she was a queen with a kingdom to rule and children to care for. It had felt so busy, the kingdom, and lands had been simpler then – when the names were different, when no entities walked. (Carnage had only been a king, then, and what is a king to a god?) She hadn’t known, then. What he was (or, would be). That she was intrinsically linked, immortal in her own queer way. That a kingdom so much larger would someday be hers – a kingdom of the dead, and she, its queen. (Not that it’s made explicit. Or that she’s any kind of ruler. But this place exists because of her. Magic’s compromise. Does that mean it’s hers?) He finally speaks and in the body beneath her muzzle she feels all the tension like a miasma in the air. She wants to fix it, aid it. Though things have hardened her, scarred her, she is kind above all else. (And there is something about him. He reminds her of people past and of no one all at once. There has been no one like him.) “Ramiel,” she says, soft, because there are no words that can soothe his tragedies, so she can only speak his name, “I’m so sorry.” She wonders if they’re here. Not all the dead are. She’s not sure why. She wonders if they have a choice. She doesn’t ask. She stays in silence for a moment, listening to him breathe. “It frightens me, too,” she says, and laughs a little despite herself, “even though I think I already am dead.” (She’s never really been sure.) |