it's unforgivable, to ask of her. The words he's already choosing are so calculating, they're a cruelty to Quetzalcoatl's loving heart. Pure manipulation on the tongue of a trickster, a dark god that cries before her like something injured and claws at her warm heart. He'll never forgive himself for this, but he'll also do anything to keep his promise to Anubis.
The hand on her throat slackens a little, his thumb reaching up to the jade green piercing below her lip. The scalding heat of her soul, which he had slipped once from below Silco's heel and returned to the Tree. He leans closer to her, and presses his mouth to her Shard softly. Pleadingly, as he brings her other hand under the heavy gold collar about his neck and aligns her palm with his own Shard — deep red and unpolished, a fissure of pain above his heart. Like it had been carved out of him long ago. Iconic for a god of the Azteca, perhaps? ]
Highstorm has a leader that has overseen unchanging generations. For a Faction that touts change and progress as part of their anthem, they are certainly sedentary. I want to remove her from her seat of power. I am sure it is possible [ difficult, but possible ] and I need your light to power the weapon that will do it. The sun will be made to shine in the night — for...
[ He hates the words he says next, because he knows he is twisting her goodness into something conniving as he speaks. ]
We all have to go home. Even to worlds that hurt us, because those worlds can be changed. Zenites must be made to go back, because they can find happiness. You can show them that, right? Quetzalcoatl, god of warmth and humanity's guiding sun.
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what he is going to do —
it's unforgivable, to ask of her. The words he's already choosing are so calculating, they're a cruelty to Quetzalcoatl's loving heart. Pure manipulation on the tongue of a trickster, a dark god that cries before her like something injured and claws at her warm heart. He'll never forgive himself for this, but he'll also do anything to keep his promise to Anubis.
The hand on her throat slackens a little, his thumb reaching up to the jade green piercing below her lip. The scalding heat of her soul, which he had slipped once from below Silco's heel and returned to the Tree. He leans closer to her, and presses his mouth to her Shard softly. Pleadingly, as he brings her other hand under the heavy gold collar about his neck and aligns her palm with his own Shard — deep red and unpolished, a fissure of pain above his heart. Like it had been carved out of him long ago. Iconic for a god of the Azteca, perhaps? ]
Highstorm has a leader that has overseen unchanging generations. For a Faction that touts change and progress as part of their anthem, they are certainly sedentary. I want to remove her from her seat of power. I am sure it is possible [ difficult, but possible ] and I need your light to power the weapon that will do it. The sun will be made to shine in the night — for...
[ He hates the words he says next, because he knows he is twisting her goodness into something conniving as he speaks. ]
We all have to go home. Even to worlds that hurt us, because those worlds can be changed. Zenites must be made to go back, because they can find happiness. You can show them that, right? Quetzalcoatl, god of warmth and humanity's guiding sun.