DAMIEN
I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak
I'm angry and I know that's weak
Damien was quiet for a stretch after Deimos’ answer, the steady crunch of boots in snow filling the gap. He wasn’t surprised to hear Safrin described in terms of beauty and power, though the blunt edge about her intolerance for betrayal had a weight to it that he didn’t ignore. That made sense to him—fair, in its own way. Even nature punished the careless.
“I can understand that,” he said finally, voice low but sure. “Loyalty ought to mean something. And if you cross a line, you pay for it. That doesn’t sound fickle to me. Just… dangerous, maybe. Like any force worth respecting.” His breath streamed out in pale ribbons, a rough laugh in his chest. “Guess the stories make her out to be a bit more temperamental than she really is.”
He walked a little farther before speaking again, eyes narrowed on the Citadel’s faint silhouette through the weather. There was something nagging at him, a practical angle he couldn’t leave alone.
“What about the rest of them, though?” he asked, glancing sidelong at Deimos. “The heralds. How do they feel about their followers praying to the others? Does it matter? If I bent the knee to Frey, would Ludo see it as a slight? Or Safrin?” His mouth tightened, tone measured, probing. “Jealousy’s a human trait, but gods are human in their ways too, aren’t they?”
There was no accusation in the words, only that searching edge to him again—the same look he’d turned on the deer herd, weighing angles, searching for truth in the patterns.
“I can understand that,” he said finally, voice low but sure. “Loyalty ought to mean something. And if you cross a line, you pay for it. That doesn’t sound fickle to me. Just… dangerous, maybe. Like any force worth respecting.” His breath streamed out in pale ribbons, a rough laugh in his chest. “Guess the stories make her out to be a bit more temperamental than she really is.”
He walked a little farther before speaking again, eyes narrowed on the Citadel’s faint silhouette through the weather. There was something nagging at him, a practical angle he couldn’t leave alone.
“What about the rest of them, though?” he asked, glancing sidelong at Deimos. “The heralds. How do they feel about their followers praying to the others? Does it matter? If I bent the knee to Frey, would Ludo see it as a slight? Or Safrin?” His mouth tightened, tone measured, probing. “Jealousy’s a human trait, but gods are human in their ways too, aren’t they?”
There was no accusation in the words, only that searching edge to him again—the same look he’d turned on the deer herd, weighing angles, searching for truth in the patterns.
And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek
For whatever it is I seek
