[ Each of his chosen makes the Void a different place. Some shattered, some growing. Hers has become a sprawling thing, a vibrant map of memories, a patchwork of different scenes from anywhere in the world at all, Dunwall sewers and vast plains littered with dry and huge and ancient bones, ship decks and caves deep in blood red stone.
Her question makes him smile, which is not a pretty thing by any means, though she cannot see. For all her magic, and despite her body bound by it to always recover again, she is not immune to the decay that beckons all mortal things. Not merely in body, either. The Void is far too immense for any human mind to stand, and yet she keeps reaching for it like a moth returning to the candleflame. It grinds her mind down to splinters, slowly but surely, and still she does not falter. Unrelenting in what she wants, even if it destroys everything else around her. (Herself too. Just in ways she doesn't care to acknowledge.) Does she accept this as a consequence, or does she not care? Or is she even aware of it anymore?
The rune vanishes between their hands. He lets her old and calloused ones fall upon his own instead, which are cold and always just a little bit damp, but otherwise hands just like a human's. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, the gesture imitated from someone else's intimacy that he does not share the sentiment of. ]
My dear, faithful Vera. What would you like to know?
[ And he stands before her, even though his feet have no visible ground to brace themselves against. Now he is not so tall, not imposing in figure, but they both know she knows better. Knows far more of what he is than most. Yes, he will give her more of his gifts, like he will give those who are drowning more rocks to break their bodies on. Of course. And she will be beautifully terrifying. ]
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Her question makes him smile, which is not a pretty thing by any means, though she cannot see. For all her magic, and despite her body bound by it to always recover again, she is not immune to the decay that beckons all mortal things. Not merely in body, either. The Void is far too immense for any human mind to stand, and yet she keeps reaching for it like a moth returning to the candleflame. It grinds her mind down to splinters, slowly but surely, and still she does not falter. Unrelenting in what she wants, even if it destroys everything else around her. (Herself too. Just in ways she doesn't care to acknowledge.)
Does she accept this as a consequence, or does she not care? Or is she even aware of it anymore?
The rune vanishes between their hands. He lets her old and calloused ones fall upon his own instead, which are cold and always just a little bit damp, but otherwise hands just like a human's. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, the gesture imitated from someone else's intimacy that he does not share the sentiment of. ]
My dear, faithful Vera. What would you like to know?
[ And he stands before her, even though his feet have no visible ground to brace themselves against. Now he is not so tall, not imposing in figure, but they both know she knows better. Knows far more of what he is than most. Yes, he will give her more of his gifts, like he will give those who are drowning more rocks to break their bodies on. Of course.
And she will be beautifully terrifying. ]