[ Purposefully, he had immersed himself into her world. He had sought the knowledge of her burning and her pain, and she had shown him the madness and the need to make oneself numb against it. He wonders if it was a mistake, to have asked that of her, to have hungered for that, the way he hungered for everything else - her gaze, Ren's power, Nate's shape. He wonders if it will make him more susceptible, as she knows what twists his mind and presses rough against his tight control. One pair of hands she recognizes, another, clutching at the hem of his kefta are very small, nails broken and lined with frost. He has to keep a hand on Nate,
to keep him from panic. He is so large, like this, covered in spines and teeth and alien strength.
Who knows what might happen, if his fear becomes uncontrollable in such a small place. ]
Nathaniel, [ he urges, and sets his own child upon him. Long-limbed, sleek. The nichevo'ya he has unleashed within the room is cold as something made from the absence of light and reality might be, nudging its body along the teeth and muscle of Nate's own. It twists and twines through limbs and what passes as Nate's underbelly, heedless of the danger in being so close to someone who might lash or thrash - obedient to the Darkling's command. ] Nothing will happen to you, I promise.
[ Illusion is as dangerous as reality. As an entrapment of the mind, it is far, far more difficult to escape.
Ilde is the center. There is no eye to this storm, and it is her crumpled form that he knows he needs to approach. The voice boils the sea of gore around them, causes the air to blister - reminds him of the pyre, and of words he had spoken. Once, not too long ago to a young woman unused to a violent world. I hardly notice anymore - he'd told her. Time to make good.
It means he has to leave Nate's side, leaving the beast of his creation to wind among the alien-boy-monster in his stead. Wading through gore and grasping hands, resisting the urge to slap at them as they claw and snag at his person. Where Ilde has collapsed, he follows her down - kneeling into the spread of blood and slicing hands, hands pressing to either side of her face while she wheezes and drags all of them through her fears. He whispers something to her, loose and liquid, foreign syllables, dark words. Bayu-bayushki bayu, ne lozhisya na krayu. ]
no subject
to keep him from panic. He is so large, like this, covered in spines and teeth and alien strength.
Who knows what might happen, if his fear becomes uncontrollable in such a small place. ]
Nathaniel, [ he urges, and sets his own child upon him. Long-limbed, sleek. The nichevo'ya he has unleashed within the room is cold as something made from the absence of light and reality might be, nudging its body along the teeth and muscle of Nate's own. It twists and twines through limbs and what passes as Nate's underbelly, heedless of the danger in being so close to someone who might lash or thrash - obedient to the Darkling's command. ] Nothing will happen to you, I promise.
[ Illusion is as dangerous as reality. As an entrapment of the mind, it is far, far more difficult to escape.
Ilde is the center. There is no eye to this storm, and it is her crumpled form that he knows he needs to approach. The voice boils the sea of gore around them, causes the air to blister - reminds him of the pyre, and of words he had spoken. Once, not too long ago to a young woman unused to a violent world. I hardly notice anymore - he'd told her. Time to make good.
It means he has to leave Nate's side, leaving the beast of his creation to wind among the alien-boy-monster in his stead. Wading through gore and grasping hands, resisting the urge to slap at them as they claw and snag at his person. Where Ilde has collapsed, he follows her down - kneeling into the spread of blood and slicing hands, hands pressing to either side of her face while she wheezes and drags all of them through her fears. He whispers something to her, loose and liquid, foreign syllables, dark words. Bayu-bayushki bayu, ne lozhisya na krayu. ]