lord, I fashion dank gods too;
They exist in another timeline together, drawn and frozen in a moment where he has a thing to ask of her, a plot to advance, but something – a block, almost, of the writing kind – has kept him from such things.
It’s often like this. A series of worlds and timeline and sometimes they intersect and sometimes they diverge.
Another strand unravels, and it’s this timeline, where he meets her in the meadow. It’s often the meadow.
There is no grand plan, here, only a sudden desire, brought on by strange times.
They are strange too, no doubt, this couple of an archangel and a god, with a theme echoing throughout their time together.
He’d torn her eyes out when she defied him in some kingdom spat he can no longer recall, he gave them back when they met again decades later, and the cycle has since repeated itself. He giveth and he taketh away.
What compels him so? What draws him back to this eye removal, this restoration, again and again?
He doesn’t know. None of us know, really.
“Ryatah,” he says, “I want your eyes. Again.”
She has given him so much, in their years of this game, these timelines, he does not think this will be any different.
“In exchange,” he says – rare, that he would even offer and exchange – “you can have mine.”
He doesn’t want them tossed aside, see – he wants to know what the world looks like through her eyes. What he looks like. He could possess her, sure, but this option seems more fun. More chaotic, even.
c a r n a g e
@[Ryatah] i thought about trying to fix the html but honestly? this is funnier