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Title: whispers and waiting
fandom: Exalted
square: worship
word count: 533
summary: I've never met anyone like you, little dragon-child: I didn't even know your kind could hear Their whispers, too. A deathknight meets a Dragon-Blooded necromancer with a similar connection to his dead but never dying gods, and determines that he simply has to talk with this fascinating creature.
content notes: dubious consent in regards to non-sexual touching: kidnapping and drugging (but no sexual situation). No other standard notes apply.
I've never met anyone like you, little dragon-child: I didn't even know your kind could hear Their whispers, too. But here you are with Their whispers filtering into your mind, into the sweep and curve and cracks, and it's interesting. I don't get to talk to anyone about this, really: the only others besides you and me that hear Them are other deathknights, and I don't like talking about this with people that can kill me.
And you won't kill me, right, sweetling? (You won't, there isn't poison in these cookies nor the tea, but it's drugged. Stay still, stay with me a moment and talk with me and then I'll let you go, I would never keep anything forever because forever doesn't exist. everything ends. everything will end.)
That's better, isn't it? There, now let's sit and talk. I saw the broken arc of your life, you know, when we met: we see each other, when we meet, those of us who can hear Them, a loop bouncing sideways infinitely, static feedback dragged up from the depths of nothing and nightmare, and you're even more like me than you thought, so pretty Dragon-Blooded ghost of a boy. Still breathing but a living ghost, and let me tell you, you're better off without it, without that life, without even thinking about it and I can already see you're a sensible thing because you don't think about it.
The world's going to burn, one way or another: you've heard it, I've heard it, everyone like us has heard it, and while I'm not a religious man, I can't deny what the dead but never dying gods down in the dark say. Neither can you, though you curl away from Their whispers, force them away from that fractured tabula rasa mind, keep it from your cracks as best as you can. Shh, shh, just listen a moment pretty ghost-boy and don't fight it, just accept it.
I like my not-living living as much as you like your living and I don't want to see the world burn yet, not before I'm done with it, but everything returns to nothing someday: you know this, too, know this truth because you hear them, too, no matter how you reject it and at the core we're the same, too, little ghost: would you give up yourself again for what you found?
No, I think not, I can see it in your eyes. Shh, shh, just wait a moment. You're interesting, I won't hurt you: I might be waiting to see the world burn, doing what I want first, but I like interesting things, and I did promise to let you go. I don't make promises lightly, I might twist the words, poisoned oaths all every one but I never promise a thing I won't give.
(Your skin is cold, so cold, like mine, like warmth itself cannot touch it. Like life itself rejects you, like it rejects me, like it has since you did the same thing I did and stood in the Labyrinth and let Their whispers fill you.)
Drink tea with me, and dream in peace: dream of the end, and tell me what you see.
fandom: Exalted
square: worship
word count: 533
summary: I've never met anyone like you, little dragon-child: I didn't even know your kind could hear Their whispers, too. A deathknight meets a Dragon-Blooded necromancer with a similar connection to his dead but never dying gods, and determines that he simply has to talk with this fascinating creature.
content notes: dubious consent in regards to non-sexual touching: kidnapping and drugging (but no sexual situation). No other standard notes apply.
I've never met anyone like you, little dragon-child: I didn't even know your kind could hear Their whispers, too. But here you are with Their whispers filtering into your mind, into the sweep and curve and cracks, and it's interesting. I don't get to talk to anyone about this, really: the only others besides you and me that hear Them are other deathknights, and I don't like talking about this with people that can kill me.
And you won't kill me, right, sweetling? (You won't, there isn't poison in these cookies nor the tea, but it's drugged. Stay still, stay with me a moment and talk with me and then I'll let you go, I would never keep anything forever because forever doesn't exist. everything ends. everything will end.)
That's better, isn't it? There, now let's sit and talk. I saw the broken arc of your life, you know, when we met: we see each other, when we meet, those of us who can hear Them, a loop bouncing sideways infinitely, static feedback dragged up from the depths of nothing and nightmare, and you're even more like me than you thought, so pretty Dragon-Blooded ghost of a boy. Still breathing but a living ghost, and let me tell you, you're better off without it, without that life, without even thinking about it and I can already see you're a sensible thing because you don't think about it.
The world's going to burn, one way or another: you've heard it, I've heard it, everyone like us has heard it, and while I'm not a religious man, I can't deny what the dead but never dying gods down in the dark say. Neither can you, though you curl away from Their whispers, force them away from that fractured tabula rasa mind, keep it from your cracks as best as you can. Shh, shh, just listen a moment pretty ghost-boy and don't fight it, just accept it.
I like my not-living living as much as you like your living and I don't want to see the world burn yet, not before I'm done with it, but everything returns to nothing someday: you know this, too, know this truth because you hear them, too, no matter how you reject it and at the core we're the same, too, little ghost: would you give up yourself again for what you found?
No, I think not, I can see it in your eyes. Shh, shh, just wait a moment. You're interesting, I won't hurt you: I might be waiting to see the world burn, doing what I want first, but I like interesting things, and I did promise to let you go. I don't make promises lightly, I might twist the words, poisoned oaths all every one but I never promise a thing I won't give.
(Your skin is cold, so cold, like mine, like warmth itself cannot touch it. Like life itself rejects you, like it rejects me, like it has since you did the same thing I did and stood in the Labyrinth and let Their whispers fill you.)
Drink tea with me, and dream in peace: dream of the end, and tell me what you see.
