chaele
worship like a dog
He had told them something similar before, but his insistence in this moment quiets Chaele both inside and out. They cannot sympathize with the discipline of war or desperation of prayer, but they know what it is to lose someone dear, to want to become more than what is, to be grateful to those that made them what they are. Their sniping conceits have no place in this circumstance, which is supposed to be joyful and serene.
“Perhaps you will forgive my ignorance.” The words fall forth in a monotone, the closest this proud druidess might come to an apology. For all their auguries and haruspicies, Chaele cannot know whether they truly are destined for obscurity or doomed to the same divine loyalty. They do not envy Deimos the curse of his allegiance, nor the things he must have done to earn it. But neither do they like the grim shape of his mouth.
They pull the cocoa mug close, no longer stealing from the generously offered plate. When they speak again, there is a strangled sort of softness in their voice. “Will you tell me about her? Safrin.”
“Perhaps you will forgive my ignorance.” The words fall forth in a monotone, the closest this proud druidess might come to an apology. For all their auguries and haruspicies, Chaele cannot know whether they truly are destined for obscurity or doomed to the same divine loyalty. They do not envy Deimos the curse of his allegiance, nor the things he must have done to earn it. But neither do they like the grim shape of his mouth.
They pull the cocoa mug close, no longer stealing from the generously offered plate. When they speak again, there is a strangled sort of softness in their voice. “Will you tell me about her? Safrin.”
at the shrine of my lies
