[ Contradictions were natural, in an complex entity; in a human, in a god. Hypocrisy was born of a refusal to acknowledge one's own warring nature, being willfully ignorant of those opposing things within oneself, and pretending like they were better for one, than the other. A human had so much more room to be anything, do anything, become anything, that witnessing one setting aside their right to choose in favor of being ruled on a soul-level by the desires of another was anathema to an entity that had no such freedom; it is a fate he does not want for Cassian.
He'd rather force the man to struggle and suffer until he dies, than become another blank pawn. ]
No promises. [ He murmurs, voice the soft rasp of loose eddies caught in the wind, whipping past the eternal spine of reality, tearing microscopic pieces of it free. Little by little, patiently wearing it down to nothing, until all that was left of fortitude and passion was the unknowable, invisible remains of it all. A desert, the last thing that would ever exist in a world, at its ending. ]
But, I will try. I believed in what I did, I was not — wrong.
[ A noise of faint frustration escapes him. Why could no one simply look at his gaze, the set of his jaw and know — he was not being foolish and stupid, but doing what he had the right and responsibility to do? It feels like a festering wound, an exhausting burden — even for a god, to not be acknowledged. To not be able to look into the eyes of someone and witness their admiration, their yearning adoration or subservience or fear without having to scrape for it.
Set's strength slips a little, his hand kicking out to support the list of his body as the exhaustion continues to creep on him. His own discord is startlingly low, despite that he had turned upon his own body and perished — and below the thin veil of linen he's wrapped around himself, the dark striations ( the mark of the Oracle? ) are long and broad, stretching the length of his spine. Extending along his ribs and curving toward his breastbone. Signs of self-harm, in the highest degree. ]
Besides, I have to punish you a little, for being so free with your secrets that I thought we were co-conspirators — only to withhold them now. You can stay a while, if you like. Take the plant when you go, it makes good tea.
[ All said lightly, with something tired and reaching its limits as he lifts his eyes and smirks. Right before he guides his weight down to the sun-warms lounge and curls into himself a little, diligently working at unknotting Cassian's Discord even as he drifts out hazily. ]
You know how to care for it. You never forgot how, you savior of children's toys.
no subject
He'd rather force the man to struggle and suffer until he dies, than become another blank pawn. ]
No promises. [ He murmurs, voice the soft rasp of loose eddies caught in the wind, whipping past the eternal spine of reality, tearing microscopic pieces of it free. Little by little, patiently wearing it down to nothing, until all that was left of fortitude and passion was the unknowable, invisible remains of it all. A desert, the last thing that would ever exist in a world, at its ending. ]
But, I will try. I believed in what I did, I was not — wrong.
[ A noise of faint frustration escapes him. Why could no one simply look at his gaze, the set of his jaw and know — he was not being foolish and stupid, but doing what he had the right and responsibility to do? It feels like a festering wound, an exhausting burden — even for a god, to not be acknowledged. To not be able to look into the eyes of someone and witness their admiration, their yearning adoration or subservience or fear without having to scrape for it.
Set's strength slips a little, his hand kicking out to support the list of his body as the exhaustion continues to creep on him. His own discord is startlingly low, despite that he had turned upon his own body and perished — and below the thin veil of linen he's wrapped around himself, the dark striations ( the mark of the Oracle? ) are long and broad, stretching the length of his spine. Extending along his ribs and curving toward his breastbone. Signs of self-harm, in the highest degree. ]
Besides, I have to punish you a little, for being so free with your secrets that I thought we were co-conspirators — only to withhold them now. You can stay a while, if you like. Take the plant when you go, it makes good tea.
[ All said lightly, with something tired and reaching its limits as he lifts his eyes and smirks. Right before he guides his weight down to the sun-warms lounge and curls into himself a little, diligently working at unknotting Cassian's Discord even as he drifts out hazily. ]
You know how to care for it. You never forgot how, you savior of children's toys.