07-16-2015, 09:45 AM
She does not forget; she cannot forget. She could forgive, but she will not and cannot, in a stubborn refusal to adhere to all that is good and light. In memory of all that she has created. In the name of the blood that her daughter carries, and in the name of Adonai, and in the name of mothers everywhere.
If he can ever forget Etro, then he is more monster than Yael can fathom. Etro is the wind and earth and water. Etro is a piece of her world, and for Kingslay to forget her, even for a moment…
Ah, but if Etro was a whispered prayer in the night and in his lungs with every breath he took, then she might be able to look the other way. As he has forgotten, he must be punished. It is known.
The golden woman knows her daughter has returned, but has yet to set sore eyes on her. Her very presence makes her baby ill, and she is sure someone below is cackling in glee at her pain. Perhaps she is prolonging the inevitable; a rehashing to Vanquish’s death is the last thing she wants to do. But that she did not come home first, that she found the beast, oh, it is infuriating. That he should come here, smelling of her, is unforgiveable.
Lightning falls from a clear sky, a blast of heavenly destructive heat in an already hot, hot land. She is somewhere and nowhere, except perhaps for her scent. It wafts alone, accompanied by neither wind nor hoofprints. It comes with the lightning bolt, as it plummets towards the beast’s eternally burning form.
If he can ever forget Etro, then he is more monster than Yael can fathom. Etro is the wind and earth and water. Etro is a piece of her world, and for Kingslay to forget her, even for a moment…
Ah, but if Etro was a whispered prayer in the night and in his lungs with every breath he took, then she might be able to look the other way. As he has forgotten, he must be punished. It is known.
The golden woman knows her daughter has returned, but has yet to set sore eyes on her. Her very presence makes her baby ill, and she is sure someone below is cackling in glee at her pain. Perhaps she is prolonging the inevitable; a rehashing to Vanquish’s death is the last thing she wants to do. But that she did not come home first, that she found the beast, oh, it is infuriating. That he should come here, smelling of her, is unforgiveable.
Lightning falls from a clear sky, a blast of heavenly destructive heat in an already hot, hot land. She is somewhere and nowhere, except perhaps for her scent. It wafts alone, accompanied by neither wind nor hoofprints. It comes with the lightning bolt, as it plummets towards the beast’s eternally burning form.
Yael, guardian of the desert