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He studied and listened, examined and pulsed, paid conviction and determination its heedless vows. The dark boy waited for the girl to do something, anything, while he wrapped his mind around every configuration and calculation, while his head drummed nothing but questions and stories, while something like destiny brewed and traced past his Machiavellian, youthful designs. They lingered in a game of the unknown, brooding, churning uncertainty, with every enigma, with every labyrinthine quality drawn past two children endowed and encrypted with tales of the past and mythos for the future. Like sheathed swords, like foreboding tyrants, like bottled flames, they held all the opportunity in the world. There were desires, longings, yearnings, stirred around his heart, some gallant, some wicked, but they all had the potential to come leaping out, to rise and race and crown. He wanted to tell her something, anything, to warrant their impending chances and expectations, to anoint and prosper what they’d do for the realm, for their empire, for the surrounding lands (exploit, damage, revere, persevere?), but Erebos had nothing to go on but the sanctity, the sanctum, the sanctuary of now. The present held an enticing glow: kingdoms aligned and peaceful, three leads orchestrating from the top, a reign of triumph glimmering, bright and luminescent, from recent battles. What had been built, fortified, and consecrated was already grand – but couldn’t they make it bigger, better, illustrious and terrifying? When the world whispered of the Basin, what did they think, what did they do? Did they shirk, did they tremble, did they admire? And as the next generation, what did they have to offer? What could they do to ensure future success and conquest? Erebos’s gaze pierced into hers, feeling a little more regal, a little more potent, a little more grand in the presence of the DarkEmpress’s daughter – as if she too held power, tenacity, and determination. “Yes.” His grin was triumphant and gleaming, an enveloping sensation of wit, of cunning, of ebullience and stalwart foundations with everything nestled and nettled between. “I think you should stay here.” He held the vicious temptation to ask, to wonder, to ponder, if her mother would have wanted it that way, if she could’ve meandered down every familiar pathway to bring her offspring to the threshold of where she’d once reigned, or if the sting of loss would’ve been too great to bother. But the child wanted her there, Sjal the princess, to revere the mountain, to glimmer amongst the ice, to embolden and prosper their fortress – so he never put his query to voice, to reality.
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[O] Dear Mother, As This Noose Is Placed Around My Neck | open
