Midas is king and he holds me so tight
Perhaps in time she will see herself as he sees her, he thinks, struggling not to wince at her laugh, or to childishly mutter that it's true. He doesn't know how better to explain it, or how to take the edge off if he were to say it any other way.So he doesn't.
What he thinks doesn't matter all that much, anyway. Better to keep training her, until she believes it herself, so she survives to become older, wiser, and what other attributes she values. (And yes, with Aamu around, the most likely thing you're going to get taught is more murder. Great, no?)
He wants to say, well, yes, but—but Wessex is Queen, it was a command, it seemed reasonable enough to him when he didn't know anything, and yes, it was a frustrating lack of cohesion at the planning meeting and it did jack shit for them in the end, because they weren't fighting monsters and somewhere in the middle of it he grows very, very cold. It settles like nausea in his gut, a cold, clammy feeling his dragon's body doesn't know how to express.
Voted? he echoes, something terrible unfurling inside of him. I- I thought this was a wish from The Voice, even though it never made any sense. His confusion is palpable, but it would explain so many things—like why it didn't add up with what he knew of his deity.
His restless desire to pace is curbed by the tiny rodent still clutched in his paw. He remains seated, the agitation displayed in the set of his jaws, the way he holds his head, his slightly lifted wings. I think she thought she could take them all on alone, that she could control how it would go, or that we would—I don't know, magically grow tough as nails and more blades. God. Children, a bartender, a bookmaker, an artist... His mouth opens with a hiss. It was just thanks to Azrael not more of them had died. And you tell me she chose this?
and turns me to gold in the sunlight
Aamu
