09-18-2018, 10:50 PM
KINGSLAY
There are a thousand ways she could come undone, and he’s imagined each of them. Fire is often his first choice, but he’s thought of other ways, too. In his dreams he’s watched the earth devour her alive on a whim. The ground under her feet became sloppy, and the mud would suck at her legs, then belly, then neck. He’d watch her go down, down, down - until all that remained were maybe the points of her ears, or a tuft of her mane.
And when the air was electric, and lightning split the skies into halves he would wonder what would happen if it lit her up instead. He would imagine the air reeking of singed flesh and ozone; fresh and foul all at once. Or he could undo her in the rain that followed. How beautiful she would look with the water beading off her back and eyelashes as her eyes rolled white with fear when it became too much, when it choked her.
“I always think of you, Kingslay.” She says, and he can feel her pulse.
(She lies.)
His disease is a dying animal inside him - it rattles his ribs, it screams, and it howls, thrashing as it fights for the footing she’s gaining. If she’s lying, it’s a lie that Kingslay wants to believe, even if he doesn’t know why. With her neck strained and extended, and the roll of white in her eyes as she swallows against his teeth, she’s never been less plain. And he has never wanted something so completely.
“You can, you know,” she says, then. She must be sick, too, to call out to him again, and again, and again.
“You can take my life if that’s what you want. It’s always been yours to take.”
(She lies.)
(She would have come for you.)
(She reeks of someone, something, else.)
It isn’t wrong entirely. He’d come for her once - nosed through the deserts like a lost dog looking for its master, and even stood ground with Yael opting for mercy instead of murder. And all she did was disappear into the horizon. All she did was reek of Him.
But theirs is an impossible gravity; a monster and its master.
And as quickly as he took her, he lets her go. He could lie, too.
“And I’ve never taken it. I’ve never wanted it, Etro.” He says, reeling backward from her, from the alien feelings she stirs in him.
“I’ve never wanted you.”
And for the first time in his existence, he’s cruel just because he wants to be.
And when the air was electric, and lightning split the skies into halves he would wonder what would happen if it lit her up instead. He would imagine the air reeking of singed flesh and ozone; fresh and foul all at once. Or he could undo her in the rain that followed. How beautiful she would look with the water beading off her back and eyelashes as her eyes rolled white with fear when it became too much, when it choked her.
“I always think of you, Kingslay.” She says, and he can feel her pulse.
(She lies.)
His disease is a dying animal inside him - it rattles his ribs, it screams, and it howls, thrashing as it fights for the footing she’s gaining. If she’s lying, it’s a lie that Kingslay wants to believe, even if he doesn’t know why. With her neck strained and extended, and the roll of white in her eyes as she swallows against his teeth, she’s never been less plain. And he has never wanted something so completely.
“You can, you know,” she says, then. She must be sick, too, to call out to him again, and again, and again.
“You can take my life if that’s what you want. It’s always been yours to take.”
(She lies.)
(She would have come for you.)
(She reeks of someone, something, else.)
It isn’t wrong entirely. He’d come for her once - nosed through the deserts like a lost dog looking for its master, and even stood ground with Yael opting for mercy instead of murder. And all she did was disappear into the horizon. All she did was reek of Him.
But theirs is an impossible gravity; a monster and its master.
And as quickly as he took her, he lets her go. He could lie, too.
“And I’ve never taken it. I’ve never wanted it, Etro.” He says, reeling backward from her, from the alien feelings she stirs in him.
“I’ve never wanted you.”
And for the first time in his existence, he’s cruel just because he wants to be.
And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee.
@etro