Arrogance.

She was steeped in it—and with each breath he took he breathed it in, water washing down his lungs, her shape distorting, growing huge and monstrous before his eyes—blotting out everything as the mist did—and it was in him, crawling through his veins, water in his blood, and he knew there was nowhere he could go as she loomed like some kind of titan, something that would not let him leave—

Well you've got me cornered, bitch.

But where to would I have run, anyway?

I've got nowhere left to go to.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"That's because you think you've got nothing to lose."

Black nostrils widened, drawing in more of the cold, humid air, and blue eyes blinked, trying to return her shape to something normal—to the statuesque lioness she ought to be, all dark smiles and those eyes—

It made his soul crawl, until he wanted to grimace at her and hurl spears of ice after her and yell at her to fucking leave him alone—

Because that was his problem.

He just wanted to be left alone.

But they always came, doing one thing or another, wrenching him from this dimension and into another, burning his home, sending others to burn his home, and, ugh—

He was just so desperately, desperately tired of it all.

And then they expected him to be graceful. Thankful, even, like fuck if he was going to worship these haughty beings who did not see fit to apologize to those they fucked up—

And just like Spark had laughed in his face, in his own way, at Mauja's hesitant worship, at what he had done to him—and all it had done to his mind—this moon god taunted him with shapes in the fog, dredging up old .. old things, ripping at scar tissue and taunting, like she was proud of how all she'd done had affected him—like she was proud of his pain—and his jaw set itself firmly, but his eyes.. he couldn't keep it out of his eyes.

The contempt. The disappointment. The frustration. What were they, really? Divine guides, or entitled assholes with enough firepower to blast your soul to hell?

He knew that she was dangerous—and the less of her shady-foggy stuff she played, the more he respected that. Didn't she know that he knew that he was out on thin ice? Didn't she know that he knew that she could let oblivion swallow him instantly, and none would be the wiser? She didn't need to try and intimidate him—or to try and break his fragile mind with these visions—she could just stand there in the moonlight and he'd know anyway all that she could do.

But he was tired—of them. Of everything. He was tired and some part of him hadn't re-learned how to care about his life.

"Why do you play the injured party when I greet you with an open mind?" he hissed in return, his voice turning low with the effort of not snapping at her—she could be so much more and yet all he saw was a child with too much power.

Someone who never had learned to grow up—or if she ever had, had forgotten it and regressed.

When would they start acting like Gods?

"It doesn't suit you," he concluded, his voice cold smoke in the neat, foggy little cage she had made them. She still seemed out of proportion, and he wondered idly if she was messing with his mind.

She probably was. She was certainly capable of it.

"Why did you see fit to end the lives of so many Helovians—and of Hototo?" A heartbeat's pause, freezing the tears before they could threaten to reach his eyes. And the next, so much quieter, "your siblings didn't exactly give you much time to explain yourself."

Don't you get it now?

[ idk what to say about his attitude ]

lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .