[ quetzalcoatl v. osiris, what a freaking match up
Because he asks a desperate question, he receives a patient answer. It has to be enough for him to find purchase in; his ribs expand, for though he does not need as much oxygen as a mortal, it is still something he draws on. Akin to breathing in scent, breathing in the fabric of the world itself, instead of just the air of his grandfather. That is how he can find the hint of her, the sunny scent of Quetzalcoatl's divinity; like a warm fruit, the incendiary heat that follows the breaking of a bone, her voice and scent manage to fill him enough. He lifts his head, peering through the curtain of his own hair, dark pupils blown wide as a black mirror, mouth bitten to shred by his own teeth. ]
Yes, he can. No matter where I go, he made sure of it.
[ There is nothing but the utmost faith in that statement, born of repetition and the steady erosion of his will below another's. Even if Osiris's image is but a ghost now, he could become real and present any time. He could crawl out from the roots of the Tree of Life, he could be the Tree of Life itself — the unbidden image of his brother, corpse-green and made of roots and dark-eyed, his eyebrows creased in heartsickness, his hands holding to Set's torn body. I have only ever lived for you, he had said. It springs between the two of them, Savant to Stargazer.
( Zenith would readily call to a man like that, and Set can only think — if he were not the one here, he would be the prize that Osiris would ask for. )
He has to lunge for Quetzalcoatl, because if he does not, he will have to ( hear / feel / think ) again of the warning. Instead of meeting her with claws and teeth, he plunges himself into her warm arms, threads his fingers into her golden hair and hides against her without a sound. Maybe, if he buries himself in her, he will not be found. ]
Quetzalcoatl. [ He breathes her name into the crook of her neck. ] I cannot stay like this —
no subject
Because he asks a desperate question, he receives a patient answer. It has to be enough for him to find purchase in; his ribs expand, for though he does not need as much oxygen as a mortal, it is still something he draws on. Akin to breathing in scent, breathing in the fabric of the world itself, instead of just the air of his grandfather. That is how he can find the hint of her, the sunny scent of Quetzalcoatl's divinity; like a warm fruit, the incendiary heat that follows the breaking of a bone, her voice and scent manage to fill him enough. He lifts his head, peering through the curtain of his own hair, dark pupils blown wide as a black mirror, mouth bitten to shred by his own teeth. ]
Yes, he can. No matter where I go, he made sure of it.
[ There is nothing but the utmost faith in that statement, born of repetition and the steady erosion of his will below another's. Even if Osiris's image is but a ghost now, he could become real and present any time. He could crawl out from the roots of the Tree of Life, he could be the Tree of Life itself — the unbidden image of his brother, corpse-green and made of roots and dark-eyed, his eyebrows creased in heartsickness, his hands holding to Set's torn body. I have only ever lived for you, he had said. It springs between the two of them, Savant to Stargazer.
( Zenith would readily call to a man like that, and Set can only think — if he were not the one here, he would be the prize that Osiris would ask for. )
He has to lunge for Quetzalcoatl, because if he does not, he will have to ( hear / feel / think ) again of the warning. Instead of meeting her with claws and teeth, he plunges himself into her warm arms, threads his fingers into her golden hair and hides against her without a sound. Maybe, if he buries himself in her, he will not be found. ]
Quetzalcoatl. [ He breathes her name into the crook of her neck. ] I cannot stay like this —