I will stand by you forever; you can take my breath away
Safe? It registers, somewhere in the stricken demigod that she is now not safe, even for a God. The thought is both agitating and depressing, and Wessex’s face - nay, her entire head - falls to her chest. As if she’d somehow (ridiculously) failed. Loki peeps in dismay, pushing her snout into the delirious woman’s chin, trying to offer comfort. Wessex’s hands come up mechanically, but she is sluggish and does not rise.
It is only the Voice’s next prompt that picks her head up, the cogs in her head straining to operate. “Tanau... “ the name breathes new life into her as she pivots on a dime, her thoughts now racing, filled with the fiery God. “He is exquisite. All the -” her mouth can’t keep up with her mind, “colors!” And as she thinks it, he is summoned before her, flickering and bright. Her face lights up in awe and adoration.
“What kind of fire are you?” she asks, “to have lilac and and lime and pink? Are you part rainbow?” A spark of amusement, “Nooooo, but there’s no clouds umin these tunnels, just your fany water and your rats and Kiada and your broken lava bed.” It’s like a water bed, but not. She frowns - no, no rainbows down here. “Can I have some?” she asks again, reaching out for the imagined fire god. “To hold against the monsters?”
Even now, in her hallucinations, she gives answers and has a grasp on reality, the needs of the distant future. Perhaps it’s because she doesn’t burn with a fever, that there’s no inflammation or dehydration, it’s just a misfiring, something that affects fluid - or blood? The brain, perhaps? The soul?
It is only the Voice’s next prompt that picks her head up, the cogs in her head straining to operate. “Tanau... “ the name breathes new life into her as she pivots on a dime, her thoughts now racing, filled with the fiery God. “He is exquisite. All the -” her mouth can’t keep up with her mind, “colors!” And as she thinks it, he is summoned before her, flickering and bright. Her face lights up in awe and adoration.
“What kind of fire are you?” she asks, “to have lilac and and lime and pink? Are you part rainbow?” A spark of amusement, “Nooooo, but there’s no clouds umin these tunnels, just your fany water and your rats and Kiada and your broken lava bed.” It’s like a water bed, but not. She frowns - no, no rainbows down here. “Can I have some?” she asks again, reaching out for the imagined fire god. “To hold against the monsters?”
Even now, in her hallucinations, she gives answers and has a grasp on reality, the needs of the distant future. Perhaps it’s because she doesn’t burn with a fever, that there’s no inflammation or dehydration, it’s just a misfiring, something that affects fluid - or blood? The brain, perhaps? The soul?
WESSEX
