01-01-2019, 06:07 PM
and lord, I fashion dark gods too;
She’s almost interesting.
Sweet, yes, and wanting, yes – he hears it in the lilt of her voice, feels it in her heartbeat – yet she does not ask. She lets him touch her, does not flinch from it, does not quiver with fright as his lips move over scars. But she does not ask, even when he implores it, offers the favor on a silver platter, she plays coy.
He watches the reaction his words elicit, her clenched jaw and averted gauzy gaze. He could continue to push, to nudge and cajole, offer glimpses of what her world could be – but why should he? He has offered her enough, teased her with a glimpse of the world, and that should have been it – she should have asked (should have begged - but instead she stands aloft, as if she is above wanting, above asking, talking about strings attached.
(She’s right, of course – but that’s not the point.)
This is the danger, of her – to catch his interest is to be put at risk, to be played with, or taken, or experimented upon.
“Is it so much, that I’ll ask for tokens in return? I have never pretended to be benevolent--”
(A lie, this, he had pretended at benevolence plenty of times, but not to anyone who knew who or what he was.)
“All I want is for you to ask. To make yourself humble before me. ”
He could stop, here. Pause and see her response, to see if she would, now, ask or beg before him. But he grows impatient, so he nudges, just a little further.
“And if you are not willing to ask, do not think I won’t do so anyway. You deserve to see, Ryatah.”
She deserves no such thing, nor does she deserve what he plans to do next – but that’s neither here nor there.
c a r n a g e