do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
He remembers the first time he met her, drenched in Bible’s blood as he had nosed his way to her neck. She had kept him warm and cackled when he breathed fire for the first time. Something about Gospel felt safe back then and even now as her rage threatens to spill over the brim of her, he feels at home. It draws a dreamy sort of sigh from him as she trembles with all the hate churning inside her chest. This barely contained chaos is his cradle, his coffin, and he treasures the moments they share. Even if she sank her fangs into him, he would call her friend and make room at his table for her.
When she draws back, his lips form a frown. It is unclear if it is out of anger or sorrow, what with his lack of eyes to deepen the expression. A forlorn little croon escapes his throat as he watches he outline of her warmth shrink away from him in disgust. What good are friends? He tilts his head and those curled horns turn with him. The stars of his cheeks shimmer bright red as he thinks on her question while the next is asked. What purpose has she served? He has no answers. He has never needed anything of her except her simple existence.
“You named me. I am Ghaul because you made it so,” he says finally as he closes the gap between them. He was always destined to become this but it was her voice that spoke him into existence. Without her, he very well may have died in the snow. He knows this. “What purpose have I served you, Gospel?”
He touches his nose to her cheek and feels the way her jaw clenches with the wrath it bites back. But he wouldn’t mind if she took a piece of him for herself. It is the least he could do to begin repaying his debt to her, after all. Ghaul touches his fangs to the scales of her face – a hunter’s promise that he will not crush her, though he easily could. And then he lifts his chin to expose the soft of his throat to her.
“What purpose can I serve?”
@[gospel]