my ears can hear my mouth can speak my spirit talks my soul believes
A noise of acknowledgement huffs out of the back of their throat, slowly swaying feet suspended in the tinkling water for a moment. Chaele remembers that night, when the sliver of moon was the only light in a clear night sky. They had taken it for an omen, some mysterious mischief or awesome anomaly, and it amuses them to discover that it had been nothing but a divine temper tantrum.
“It seems they are nothing if not creative in their fury,” they observe, toes resuming to draw ripples in the water. Their words are slow and careful, measuring out their own animosity for those fickle entities who use mortal lives for play and punishment. “You have sacrificed much for this neutrality.”
Their hand moves to the makeshift shrine, a finger pressing at the patterns of melted wax that have pooled around the neglected candle. Perhaps it is an homage to Frey, their warmth and protection and mercy, though Chaele had not initially intended it to be. “I intend to sacrifice as little as possible. You must understand: I am no servant or champion. It is a matter of survival.”
“It seems they are nothing if not creative in their fury,” they observe, toes resuming to draw ripples in the water. Their words are slow and careful, measuring out their own animosity for those fickle entities who use mortal lives for play and punishment. “You have sacrificed much for this neutrality.”
Their hand moves to the makeshift shrine, a finger pressing at the patterns of melted wax that have pooled around the neglected candle. Perhaps it is an homage to Frey, their warmth and protection and mercy, though Chaele had not initially intended it to be. “I intend to sacrifice as little as possible. You must understand: I am no servant or champion. It is a matter of survival.”
Base code by Odd • Art by Krakenkatz
