[ The vicious part of him, the dark part of him that seeks dominance, thinks to tell her no amount of desire would ever allow anyone not born of the divine to become divine themselves. Such was the way, among the Ennead; you were born to maat, to the order of the world, and thus entirely divorced from the freedoms allotted to mortals, individualism and passion. Hayame's passion was a thing that could free her from her shackles, for those shackles were put in place by equally fallible people. Set was bound by the very fabric of reality, and thus -- never to be freed from his fate.
( You don't want to be a goddess, he wants to tell her, low and sullen. You would never dream again. )
Instead, he works to roll up the strip of cloth he'd made from his undershirt, tucking it into the palm of his hand so that it did not trail while he worked. The rest of her body will be fine, she is sturdy and powerful in form; it is the laceration across her breasts he wants to attend to. That is where her soul is, her world. It must be safeguarded from sharp eyes, minds that will eke out every advantage. ]
You are desirous as a mortal, Hayame. It has been eons since I met someone quite like you.
[ To be able to grace her with a war god's blessing was -- infinitely strange to him, who did not grow attached to others easily. His family, yes. And even then, after so many betrayals -- the love he had for them was so darkly poisoned, soured.
He presses his fingers to the midline of her body, just below where the rend in her bindings begins. Hold that, he murmurs to her, waiting for her hand to pin it in place before he leans in, closer still, and begins to wind the cloth around her chest once more, cinching it tightly against the swell of her breasts and the wound there. ]
Did you know I was not born into full divinity? To become a god, one must acquire a perfect mind and body, before the ascension may begin. We must shed all weakness, all indecision, all right to freedom -- and we are taken in by maat, the order of the world. We shed our former lives, and we are made anew. Born, and then remade.
[ He thinks of her, pausing with his arms passing around the width of her shoulders, his own arms tucked below hers -- so close, he can smell the sweat gathered at the nape of her neck. He can feel the thud of her heart. To say nothing of the intimacy of it, he is a creature of broad appetites and ruthless desires. ]
Only the children of gods can become gods, where I am from. Though, it is different throughout the world. I travel so very much, I have seen so many different things. I yearn for new knowledge, new sights, new experiences regardless of what it costs others. My appetites are horrendous and selfish. That is the kind of god I was made into, and I wonder what we are fated to become to one another.
no subject
( You don't want to be a goddess, he wants to tell her, low and sullen. You would never dream again. )
Instead, he works to roll up the strip of cloth he'd made from his undershirt, tucking it into the palm of his hand so that it did not trail while he worked. The rest of her body will be fine, she is sturdy and powerful in form; it is the laceration across her breasts he wants to attend to. That is where her soul is, her world. It must be safeguarded from sharp eyes, minds that will eke out every advantage. ]
You are desirous as a mortal, Hayame. It has been eons since I met someone quite like you.
[ To be able to grace her with a war god's blessing was -- infinitely strange to him, who did not grow attached to others easily. His family, yes. And even then, after so many betrayals -- the love he had for them was so darkly poisoned, soured.
He presses his fingers to the midline of her body, just below where the rend in her bindings begins. Hold that, he murmurs to her, waiting for her hand to pin it in place before he leans in, closer still, and begins to wind the cloth around her chest once more, cinching it tightly against the swell of her breasts and the wound there. ]
Did you know I was not born into full divinity? To become a god, one must acquire a perfect mind and body, before the ascension may begin. We must shed all weakness, all indecision, all right to freedom -- and we are taken in by maat, the order of the world. We shed our former lives, and we are made anew. Born, and then remade.
[ He thinks of her, pausing with his arms passing around the width of her shoulders, his own arms tucked below hers -- so close, he can smell the sweat gathered at the nape of her neck. He can feel the thud of her heart. To say nothing of the intimacy of it, he is a creature of broad appetites and ruthless desires. ]
Only the children of gods can become gods, where I am from. Though, it is different throughout the world. I travel so very much, I have seen so many different things. I yearn for new knowledge, new sights, new experiences regardless of what it costs others. My appetites are horrendous and selfish. That is the kind of god I was made into, and I wonder what we are fated to become to one another.