chaele
worship like a dog
Chaele’s arm retreats toward herself the moment it is freed, fingers flexing through a mild flourish in what might be a warding gesture. There is a strained sort of haste in the movements that follow, fear and relief riding a dark undercurrent that perhaps even she might not recognize. The hair is entwined around the two sprigs like a ribbon, which she continues to pinch close as she retrieves a red candle from the same box as before.
Meanwhile the eyes behind the mask’s shadows tilt pointedly toward Nate, voice pitched in a failed attempt at levity. “Would you have given it if I asked?” Her attempt to meet his gaze results in her following it toward the embroideries, one of which draws her eye in particular. The rune is said to evoke the remembrance of stories: the lessons passed between parent and child, mentor and apprentice.
She shakes her head as his questions pour out. “This talisman is given freely, as its pieces were given freely to me.” Almost. “Or... I could say that you have already paid its price.” After the candle is twisted upright into the dirt, Chaele retrieves a small flintsteel device and lights the wick. The wax melts quickly, pooling brightly beneath the flame. “It will do what you will it to do, Nate. But it is incomplete if it does not represent everything you care about. So. What else?”
Meanwhile the eyes behind the mask’s shadows tilt pointedly toward Nate, voice pitched in a failed attempt at levity. “Would you have given it if I asked?” Her attempt to meet his gaze results in her following it toward the embroideries, one of which draws her eye in particular. The rune is said to evoke the remembrance of stories: the lessons passed between parent and child, mentor and apprentice.
She shakes her head as his questions pour out. “This talisman is given freely, as its pieces were given freely to me.” Almost. “Or... I could say that you have already paid its price.” After the candle is twisted upright into the dirt, Chaele retrieves a small flintsteel device and lights the wick. The wax melts quickly, pooling brightly beneath the flame. “It will do what you will it to do, Nate. But it is incomplete if it does not represent everything you care about. So. What else?”
at the shrine of my lies
