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08-22-2012, 01:26 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-28-2012, 05:55 PM by Prometheus.)
The oppressive heat of Tallsun has at last abated, and yet I find myself feeling death as heavy a coat upon me as before. Perhaps the Orangemoon cool and its effect on my stench has suited others, but I've noticed nothing but a dimming of the atmosphere and a reemergence of life in the Oasis. How sickening it is, to see grass growing healthier somehow in this season where it is meant to die, to see animals emerge for the first time in months when they should prepare for hibernation. You've grown fat and lazy with the ease of the kill afforded to you by your hypnosis and the stupidity of nature's sons and daughters. I see you putting on weight and filling the gaps between your ribs as you tear violently at the corpses of rabbits and weaker does. You even seem to shed some of the sickly pallor that had grown upon you over those past few months of solitary life in the marsh. I feel betrayed and alone as you hunt first for yourself, as I remain disregarded, the immortal son left to starve simply because he can. The notion of eating when there is no need to is something I find fascinating. I can manage to survive without any sustenance, with every portion of my body battered and bruised. Even if this form is to expire, my soul will live on in the body of another. I am immortal, and yet I still thirst. The concept is strange and the desire uncontrollable while in no way negative, and yet I hate it each time I feel that sickening hunger and that yearning to sink my dull teeth into the weakened flesh of the dead. You see it as my weakness, my one connection to the living that I cannot seem to sever, but at each inkling that you are aware of this, you are reminded of the reason for each link I've forged to wrap around you in a chain. What was once a collar has now extended to drape over you loosely in some areas, and constrict in others. The metal bends to my will, crushing you beneath its steely grip as I see fit. For the ultimate power still rests with me. You may twirl your tail and enrapture all of the Dragon's Throat oasis, but your tricks do nothing to phase me. Once you tried to put me under your spell- the oval scars around your ankles are a reminder that you never will again. Blood sluicing down your hide is a reminder that I am your master, and you my servant. I do my best to forget how much I love you. I rest for the first time in days, settling my corpse beside the stream and letting my broken form fall across the ground. You bring me the bones of your kills, but I deem each unworthy of becoming my wings. You receive no pleasure or praise, simply reprimands. I've made it a point never to award good behavior; I've made it a habit to never reward you anything at all. |
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please tag Prometheus in all replies!
magic & force is permitted at your own peril.
