chaele
worship like a dog
They do not really want to know. They had long since decided on their opinion of the gods and had certainly made it clear to this loyal champion. And whatever grief or caution their offenses might have stirred in him, there is a certain comfort in seeing that dark, primal side. It is not swayed by setbacks or debts; it is hard, certain, predictable, impressive.
But, as Chaele has conceded too late, it is not right for this place.
So they lift their mask, take a stalling sip of dwindling cocoa, and sweep an upward palm like a shrug. A casual lilt rises a little too sharp in the reply, “I do not care about powers and defenses. But I have heard unfavorable things about Her. Manipulations, conceits, biases, debts. Perhaps I assumed your loyalty was... coerced.” The last word chokes out like a wince, stumbling forth before they can stop it. The question has become less about Safrin and more about Deimos himself, the sort of entity he would devote to. “But that is clearly not the case.”
But, as Chaele has conceded too late, it is not right for this place.
So they lift their mask, take a stalling sip of dwindling cocoa, and sweep an upward palm like a shrug. A casual lilt rises a little too sharp in the reply, “I do not care about powers and defenses. But I have heard unfavorable things about Her. Manipulations, conceits, biases, debts. Perhaps I assumed your loyalty was... coerced.” The last word chokes out like a wince, stumbling forth before they can stop it. The question has become less about Safrin and more about Deimos himself, the sort of entity he would devote to. “But that is clearly not the case.”
at the shrine of my lies
