even after they have been stepped on
When did he become so hard-edged, like a bit of ice broken apart into so many blades? He can feel the pieces of his heart whittling themselves into swords, taking all the winter-frost and turning it into a weapon. And he can feel the way every bit of the magic in his blood starts to burn and wants to turn itself into arrows tearing through his marrow.
He wants to tell her that he has seen enough of the world to know that she is wrong. And he knows it is a terrible thing, to be wrapped now in all his
He does not tell her that she does not know him well enough to know (but oh the words are there, begging to be spoken on the tip of his tongue.) And he does not tell her that he would devour these gods as soon as pray to them, that the only vow that leaves his lips every time he enters this temple is this: if you burn my forests again, you will burn with it.
He does not tell her that all of his promises start or end with violence now.
“Everyone burns up and fades away, Antiope.” He does not look up from the altar. He only looks on at the bit of cracked stone and wonders why the cornerstone had not been broken apart sooner. “It’s what we do while we’re still burning that makes the difference.”
The only offering he leaves for Oriens is his magic that is still bleeding out from him in patterns blooming across the shrine, lichen and wisteria filling every crack and spreading over every ruin. And the only familiarity in his offering is the warning he weaves into every petal and leaf.
If Antiope thinks he is a godly man, it is only because Ipomoea learned long ago that he had to be the god his city was waiting for. Because Oriens was not the savior they had hoped he would be, but he — oh, he would sooner walk through flames himself than set them loose on his people. And this, too, he knows to be terrible. But still when he stands and looks at the night queen it is with a look that says he understands why someone would want to kill their god.
He understands, because he has already promised every red poppy in Illuster that he would kill Oriens the next time he returned.
“What changed?” He does not know why his chest is aching when he asks her, or why the storm gathering in the distance feels like his heartbeat. He only knows when he steps beside her and looks out into the bleeding night that the answer is there in the way the altars lay forgotten behind them.
@Antiope
"Speaking."
