lord, I fashion dark gods too;
Is missing her the right word?
His emotions are strange things, refined and redefined over centuries until they are no longer recognizable, no longer things able to be fit in categories. If they ever were. He has known so much, a multitude of pleasures and pains. The former, mostly, but there have been stumbles along the way, his own multitude of deaths - some planned, some not.
He knows that her presence causes something inside him, a spark. Desire, yes, but desire is common, for him. Something deeper, carved in his veins, for he keeps making these pilgrimages to her.
“I did miss you,” he says. Not quite arguing her point, but affirming that there is affection there, although his manifestation of affection is a strange thing indeed.
“You’re so dedicated, Ryatah,” he says, unprompted. It is praise, but it’s a bit of a test, too. A primer. What would you do?
He enjoys the warmth of her touch, though. Enjoys her pale skin beneath his muzzle, the faint hint of her pulse, her speeding heart. There is still room in this god to enjoy such banal things, even if for a moment.
But a moment is all it is, and then he withdraws, fixes her with his gaze. In the distance, something rustles, shifts – his charge, impatient. He quiets it, does not want it to make itself known. Not quite yet. She must be primed. Readied.
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for me?”
He is curious to know her answer. Is more curious still to discover the actual truth of her answer.
c a r n a g e