you need a big god; ryatah

[Carnage]

lord, I fashion dark gods too;

It had almost humbled him, the first time he stumbled into the stars. It had been a whim, a budding god testing limits, and when he had manifested the sight of such sprawling galaxies had nearly overwhelmed him. It was the kind of thing that would make a man weep, if he were indeed still a man, and not a god. (Still – there had been a tightness in his throat. A feeling of smallness.) The sight of it always unsettles him – but it uplifts him, too. Reminds him there are worlds yet unexplored. This is a necessary, as time becomes increasingly meaningless, as days pass like minutes. He takes his eyes from the stars and watches her watching them, instead. He has not taken many here, it is more difficult, to sustain them for any prolonged period of time. But she is a curiosity still, and so he does not mind, bringing her amongst the stars. Her voice breaks into the nothingness, made real by his magic. She expresses her admiration – of course she does – and he is pleased for it. (Sound shouldn’t carry, of course – but neither should they be here, this strange, mad couple. In dark gods, all things are possible.) “I didn’t, for a long time,” he says. He isn’t sure how long he stayed up here, at first. He’d stayed until he couldn’t any more, and even then, he’d returned as soon as his magic had refreshed itself. “I enjoy bringing it back with me, though,” he says, and as he does, the galaxies leak onto his skin, starting at the ankles, crawling up the legs, “not all are as fortunate as you. They don’t get to see it for themselves, so I take what I can.” A pause, then. “It’s quite a feeling, taking the stars under your skin. You should try.” He touches her, and lets the stars in.