violence
Easy.
He’d opened to her like a flower to the sun, this stranger, and when she took his mind – of course she did, how could she ignore such ripe fruit? – she found it a well-used place, contoured for magicians. And though she is no magician, she is powerful, and she fits into him easier than she had the others.
She trembles and whirs at the possibilities spread before her, something new and beautiful in her filthy hands, a thing to take and use and ruin – she always ruins – and she knows not to miss her chance.
(She recalls, too well, how it had felt to be powerless. The empty way she’d walked, no bones beside her, the subtle ache in her marrow at the integral part of her, gone.)
So she makes the most of her presents, of these fools who come across her – or whom she comes across – and if they open the way this boy does, well –
She slips him from his kingdom, takes him to the forest (she pilots him, her own body trudges behind, mechanical, strange). When they are some semblance of alone she releases him, falls back into her own body – breathes deep at the power there – and watches as he blinks, a babe walking into the sunlight.
“Hello,” she says, and her voice is smooth, and could even be mistaken for kind – like she is some Good Samaritan who stumbled across him.
She expects questions - who are you or what did you do - but his next words surprise even her.
Do it again.
She almost shakes her head in disbelief. Easy, so easy.
She grins – wide, shark-like – and walks a bit closer. She moves like silk on the water, liquid, examining him further – a strange boy, bones growing on the outside of his skin. She wonders if they could be controlled she way she does her bone menagerie, or if his armor is still a living thing. This is an experiment she notes for later, filed in one of hundreds of dark corners in her mind.
“Well,” she says, mild, as if considering, “since you asked so nicely.”
She slips back into his mind, that open, gaping thing (like a battlefield wound, innards exposed, terrible and stinking). For a moment there is pain – his pain, raw, unfiltered, savage – and she quiets this, hushes it like a disobedient child.
Such hurt, she says, what have you done, boy?
Then --
I could make it all go away.
She’s such a liar.
If you’re good for me. If you let me play.
I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips
1. lemme know if you want me to change any of this
2. feel free to play her as making him do if you wanna get to more Pain