[The bruises that Set's hands pass over seem to largely be confined, at least, to muscle, save for one or two on her foreknees that had taken the brunt of her half ton weight in a fall across the ice. ... But the doppelganger had gotten an arrow through the temple as she skid, so... she had reclaimed the pain she'd been given. The pain she feels now as he ascertains the depth of the swelling and discoloration hidden by her dun hide is little in comparison.
... His mark is on his hand, hers on the back of her neck, beneath the high, tight arch of her updone mane. It is a different shape... but that is less noteworthy than the strange marks on his other hand. The way the dark ink? marks his knuckles and wrist, the lines connecting them as if mapping out the route to his bones.
Strength over all else... She wonders if she agrees with it. She had been taught so long to value honor and dignity, tried so hard to fight the way the humans idealized so that she would not be labeled a beast only capable of desperately clawing for survival. It was why she always clung to weapons even though her own body was a weapon perhaps more powerful than any human tool her world could manufacture, but honor...
In the end, what had honor done for her besides ruin everything that could have been potentially good in her life? In the end... that hand she had been looking at clasps the trident between her own, and yet she has to look at his eyes instead, her auxiliary lungs rising and falling in a shallow tempo that slowly spills a bit more sluggish blood from her wound into the valley between her breasts. How unnatural they were... for eyes to be red. She wishes they weren't. That demon's were crimson, too, and she has only the single stormy pupil left with which to regard them. Potential? Victory?]
If desire was enough, I myself would have been a goddess long ago.
[Everything she'd had, more effort than any mortal woman should have needed to exert just to live with something like dignity and respect as a person... in a world where gods did not smile upon jinba, it had gotten her nothing. Nothing but pain much unlike the simply wounds that she bears now. Was it blasphemous to say such a thing to a god? She says it anyway. What is he going to do... ? Abandon her? No, she doesn't want- Not the one person who had come down to this place looking for her- (How wretched.)
One of her hands shifts, and closes over the one curled on the trident beside her. Regardless of whether it was covered in sinister lines or not. Just a moment... before she tries to disguise it as just shifting her grip on the weapon, turning it blade down to shove into the icy steps beside her, point down. She will not grip it any longer like she needs a pacifier.
Instead, she puts her arms down at her sides, limp and willing to move as needed.]
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... His mark is on his hand, hers on the back of her neck, beneath the high, tight arch of her updone mane. It is a different shape... but that is less noteworthy than the strange marks on his other hand. The way the dark ink? marks his knuckles and wrist, the lines connecting them as if mapping out the route to his bones.
Strength over all else... She wonders if she agrees with it. She had been taught so long to value honor and dignity, tried so hard to fight the way the humans idealized so that she would not be labeled a beast only capable of desperately clawing for survival. It was why she always clung to weapons even though her own body was a weapon perhaps more powerful than any human tool her world could manufacture, but honor...
In the end, what had honor done for her besides ruin everything that could have been potentially good in her life? In the end... that hand she had been looking at clasps the trident between her own, and yet she has to look at his eyes instead, her auxiliary lungs rising and falling in a shallow tempo that slowly spills a bit more sluggish blood from her wound into the valley between her breasts. How unnatural they were... for eyes to be red. She wishes they weren't. That demon's were crimson, too, and she has only the single stormy pupil left with which to regard them. Potential? Victory?]
If desire was enough, I myself would have been a goddess long ago.
[Everything she'd had, more effort than any mortal woman should have needed to exert just to live with something like dignity and respect as a person... in a world where gods did not smile upon jinba, it had gotten her nothing. Nothing but pain much unlike the simply wounds that she bears now. Was it blasphemous to say such a thing to a god? She says it anyway. What is he going to do... ? Abandon her? No, she doesn't want- Not the one person who had come down to this place looking for her- (How wretched.)
One of her hands shifts, and closes over the one curled on the trident beside her. Regardless of whether it was covered in sinister lines or not. Just a moment... before she tries to disguise it as just shifting her grip on the weapon, turning it blade down to shove into the icy steps beside her, point down. She will not grip it any longer like she needs a pacifier.
Instead, she puts her arms down at her sides, limp and willing to move as needed.]
... Do as you will.