chaele
worship like a dog
She has heard of a dead demi-god, a vengeance and a battle and a ceasefire, but the details are blurred by rumor and time. If his uncanny smile did not confirm her suspicions, then the stagnant smell of his indolence does the job. She intakes a short breath, then looses it as she descends into a seated position in the dirt. Her skirts bundle around her crossed legs, embroidered at apparently random points with runes that match the scars on her arms.
“You lost something,” is the only assumption she can make with her limited information. “And the part of you that remains is... tied to this place.” That is even more fragile a connection, and her voice wavers as she realizes it. But while she does not know what it is to die, she does know what it is to feel less than alive.
Her head seems to turn toward the forest as she uses one eye to peer toward the nuances of his blithe expression. A bear would have been a suitable replacement for her mask, but so is it suitable that she examines this creature through the eyes of prey. She wants to ask him for more, to understand his wholly unique circumstance, but she does not even know the questions to ask.
“Are you afraid?”
“You lost something,” is the only assumption she can make with her limited information. “And the part of you that remains is... tied to this place.” That is even more fragile a connection, and her voice wavers as she realizes it. But while she does not know what it is to die, she does know what it is to feel less than alive.
Her head seems to turn toward the forest as she uses one eye to peer toward the nuances of his blithe expression. A bear would have been a suitable replacement for her mask, but so is it suitable that she examines this creature through the eyes of prey. She wants to ask him for more, to understand his wholly unique circumstance, but she does not even know the questions to ask.
“Are you afraid?”
at the shrine of my lies
