what a sight for sore eyes; ryatah

[Ryatah]

“What have I become, my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know goes away in the end."

”No, you certainly have never pretended anything,” She agrees with him, with that same peculiar smile, as though their conversation is not so heavy and foreboding, further feeding the illusion that they are but two ancient entities sharing each others company. They have only had a handful of encounters in which she has walked away unscathed, and he is too focused, too calculating right now, for her to think that this was going to be one of those times. Somehow the fear that rushes her veins is not one that makes her flee – not even a flicker of a thought of it in her mind. It’s hardly fear, but more of an exhilarating adrenaline rush, an eager anticipation.  ”But I have nothing to offer you.” Nothing that would be of interest to him, at least, though she supposes that’s usually his goal – take whatever means the most to his target, whatever can inflict the most damage.

Make yourself humble before me, the words reverberate inside of her, echoing off the walls and stirring something alive; not something of fire and strength, but something that quiets her, that causes her to withdraw. She is again the docile lamb laying patiently at the jaws of the wolf, awaiting direction, and suddenly she is compliant, the notes of her voice somehow more reticent than before. ”I have always done as you asked, Carnage.” Almost always, but she doesn’t have to say that – not to him.

She touches him again, her lips hardly ghosting across his skin, and she remembers when he had been made of bone and rot. ”Will you give me eyes again?” So obedient in her request, the words uttered with such caution, to be asking the man for something that he had so brutally taken from her - but rightfully, she would never deny that, had never slandered his name for the way he had reprimanded her that day. ”Please.”

RYATAH

you could have it all, my empire of dirt