Obe is a simple boy and would be an even simpler man.
He knew the poison that lay beneath his skin, but more than that, he knew the strength of his back. He knew the muscles that lay beneath the skin, the strength that roped through his heavy form. He knew that his value lay in that strength and, without it, he had very little to offer this world—even less to offer her.
He knew that Cher was an element of chaos and that whatever within him could love, loved that.
And he knew that, above all else, there was beauty in worshiping the power of his sister.
So he remains still when she rises, dutiful in his stance when she comes close to him. He touches his shoulder and he cannot help the awe that grips his simple heart—the feeling of being touched by a god—and he cannot break his blackened gaze from watching her. From wondering what she has seen.
More than he could ever imagine, he knows.
Far more than he was capable of understanding.
What she asks though catches him off guard and his breath stutters slightly. His mouth is dry when he thinks of the implications of what she is asking, of what she is offering. It was terrifying, he thinks, if he was capable of fear, but the pause is less than half a breath before his mind finally clicks into place.
“Of course,” his voice rasps. “More than anything.”
turn your head toward the storm that’s surely coming along