there's just too much that time cannot erase; ryatah

[Carnage]

lord, I fashion dark gods too;

He is white still, shimmering and strange. It had been an odd urge, to shift so, but the color had reminded him of her, in its own strange way, though he plays poorly as an angel.
He had not forgotten their last meeting, nor the taste of blood on his tongue. Some might think him rash, for his reactions, and perhaps he was – but he rarely admits to shortcomings, and this is no different. She had disobeyed him, and he had rained down punishment for such disobedience. It was the way of things, and between them lay a myriad of punishments for the most mundane of sins.
But they returned, didn’t they? He to her, and her to him, some new cycle of whatever it was that had grown between them, romance in the most cancerous of forms.

He returns to the meadow. He thinks of the last time he – they – were here, the alien prone between them, the question, her disappointing answer. He’d known, maybe – he knows her so well, in a way he cannot articulate – but he had wondered, thought perhaps his presence, the want on his tongue when he asked her to end the thing’s life, might have pushed her to shred this final moral for him. No such luck, and the creature had left them unscathed, though the same could not be said for Ryatah and the stony sockets he had left her with.
He'd made a promise, or something like it. Perhaps one day I’ll take them back.
Perhaps.
He calls out to her, and he waits.

c a r n a g e

@[Ryatah] do you like being posted to with no warning because hey!!