11-15-2021, 07:48 PM
lord, I fashion dark gods too;
He had almost hoped she would fight, a little. But she is hopeful – such a dangerous thing! – and so she agrees, ignorant as a lamb to slaughter. And still, even if a fight would have been fun, there is an indulgence in her consent, as well. Because he will take her, and he will say this is what you agreed to, this is what you wanted and that, he knows, is a kind of exquisite cruelty that he cannot inflict alone. He needs it, that yes, to really twist the knife.
He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he touches her, briefly, his dark gray muzzle against her white coat. He’s known her body before – several times – but this is more intimate than any of that.
“Follow me,” he says softly, but of course there is no following – instead he takes, he transports them both into darkness, into a place in-between.
The darkness around them is suffocating. Even though he knows he can take himself back at any time, there is a moment where his throat tightens. It’s too much like death, this void, and he has died enough, does not plan to do so again. He casts a light – a weak, sickly glow that the darkness seems to consume hungrily – and he looks at Agetta.
“This,” he says, “this is where you have to go.”
He pushes the light out further, even as the darkness seems to fight him, pushing back against the light. But his efforts are rewarded, for into view comes an angel, his own foolish, disobedient angel whom he will take nonetheless because she brings out a kindness in him, even if it doesn’t always look like that.
“Ryatah,” he says, and his voice feels too small, in his void, “I’ve brought a replacement. She’s lost her memories, and needs some time to think.”
He looks at Agetta, her pale features in the sickly light. He won’t leave her here long, probably. Time does get odd for him, of course. Or hell, perhaps she’ll find her own way out. Maybe she’ll remember how.
“Your memories,” he says, and unlocks them, lets the memories flow back to her, those loves and losses. He lets his own memories come last, takes a pleasure in the realization and horror dawning on her face.
“You’re welcome,” he says, and he moves away from Agetta, his movements strange in this nothingness, floating and walking and drifting all at once, grasps onto Ryatah, his teeth on her withers. This is not kind. The kindness is in saving her, and that enough.
He twists, and tastes blood, and then the void is gone, and once again he is back on the mountain with a white mare, and he is shaking his head, sighing as he releases her from his grasp.
“You shouldn’t leave like that,” he tells Ryatah, “it’s really quite rude.”
c a r n a g e
@Agetta @Ryatah hello if either if you would like for me to change anything please let me know!!