07-20-2020, 07:43 PM
lord, I fashion dark gods too;
It's not that he hasn’t considered it. That maybe he’s had his fill of her – that this failure of hers had pushed them to the edge. He could walk away now, leaving her bleeding, leaving her wondering.
Yet –
Yet he does not despise her for her failure. He should, perhaps – and once, he might have. But he is used to being failed, now, for don’t they all fail him at some point? Nothing can measure up to a god, and he has learned this lesson time and time again. He is disappointed in her, sure, and he will leave her with this punishment, will force the remembrance of her defiance on her until he deems time to bring it back. If he does. Perhaps he will leave, and he will tire of her.
The sweetness of her blood in his mouth suggests otherwise. She should not taste so sweet.
He considers her question. He could lie, hurt her further – because he can feel her want, despite this, despite the blood pouring like tears down her face. He could have her believe he is finished with her.
Yet –
Yet that is not the kind of pain he wants her to feel. He is too drunk on the devotion to cut in such a way.
“I’ll come back for you,” he says, “in time.”
A pause, as his lips touch her bloodstained face.
“However,” he says, “I’m not quite finished.”
He picks up a rock from the ground beneath them, small and smooth. He places it where one eye had been, its flat brown surface staring out horrifically from the wound. He repeats the process, and seals the rocks there with his magic, tethering them to her.
“A souvenir,” he says, “of your defiance. If you’re good, perhaps one day I’ll take them back. If not…”
He lets the sentence die in the sweltering air between them.
“Goodbye, Ryatah,” he says – a final brush of his lips against her bloodstained cheek, a final glance at the unseeing surface where her eyes had been – and then the dark god is gone.
c a r n a g e
@[Ryatah]