But the hard prey is the one that won’t come bidden.
Swine.
There are only two emotions in life that matter.
Love, and hate.
All the rest only serve to fill the void of other’s absences.
Friendship is a poor mockery of love. Boredom, or annoyance, a shadow to fill the void that is empty without hate.
Vercingtorix, between the two, has always been more full of hate than love. But it fills him wholly; it cements every empty inch of him until he feels full, complete, a man with all his needs met.
When she curses at him, when she spits at his feet, he only smiles. She looks decrepit, compared to what she had been in her prime; fury and sea and eyes bright with wrath. She, he knows, must be full of hate too. But now the vessel her hate fills is thin and cursed; a mockery of what she had been.
“Now, Saphira,” Vercingtorix murmurs. “That’s no way to speak to someone who granted you a favour, once.”
Vercingtorix pauses. There is something wicked in his eyes; something that belongs to firelight, to flesh wrested open by eager teeth, the jagged cut of lightening in the storming sky. “After all, I let you live.”
For a moment—so transient it is more like a breath than a thought—Vercingtorix feels like a lieutenant again, his words his weapons, his strength in his command.
@Saphira
"Speaking."
There are only two emotions in life that matter.
Love, and hate.
All the rest only serve to fill the void of other’s absences.
Friendship is a poor mockery of love. Boredom, or annoyance, a shadow to fill the void that is empty without hate.
Vercingtorix, between the two, has always been more full of hate than love. But it fills him wholly; it cements every empty inch of him until he feels full, complete, a man with all his needs met.
When she curses at him, when she spits at his feet, he only smiles. She looks decrepit, compared to what she had been in her prime; fury and sea and eyes bright with wrath. She, he knows, must be full of hate too. But now the vessel her hate fills is thin and cursed; a mockery of what she had been.
“Now, Saphira,” Vercingtorix murmurs. “That’s no way to speak to someone who granted you a favour, once.”
Vercingtorix pauses. There is something wicked in his eyes; something that belongs to firelight, to flesh wrested open by eager teeth, the jagged cut of lightening in the storming sky. “After all, I let you live.”
For a moment—so transient it is more like a breath than a thought—Vercingtorix feels like a lieutenant again, his words his weapons, his strength in his command.
@Saphira
