[ her reply is the wind that blows over his skin, colder than any breeze he's ever felt in his life. it stands the hairs on his neck on end. it quickens his heartbeat with a fervor that bordered on chest pain. it pales his face, dilates his pupils.
knowledge is a funny thing. kaji was privy to information that would make most people's blood run cold. monstrosities that defied description, abuse so terrible it couldn't be said to belong to any man alive. his currency dealt in lies, exploitation, manipulation. technically he had the blood of millions, children included, on his hands. but there was always distance. always distance. to think of the end of the world or the dissolution of souls was always an exercise of imagination, which meant distance and fantasy followed by logical conclusion. this was personal. the symbiote in her head is the symbiote in his head is the symbiote that had all of them in an embrace of shared terror.
the woman he was speaking to escaped from him, or at least she'd took the backseat to someone-or-thing infinitely more terrifying, and this one-or-thing referred to her in the manner of a benevolent landlord to one of his most treasured tenants. ]
Who is her.
[ he thought he was through, asking questions he already knew the answer to. he only thing he could manage is a whisper, throat inexplicably tight and dry. ]
no subject
knowledge is a funny thing. kaji was privy to information that would make most people's blood run cold. monstrosities that defied description, abuse so terrible it couldn't be said to belong to any man alive. his currency dealt in lies, exploitation, manipulation. technically he had the blood of millions, children included, on his hands. but there was always distance. always distance. to think of the end of the world or the dissolution of souls was always an exercise of imagination, which meant distance and fantasy followed by logical conclusion. this was personal. the symbiote in her head is the symbiote in his head is the symbiote that had all of them in an embrace of shared terror.
the woman he was speaking to escaped from him, or at least she'd took the backseat to someone-or-thing infinitely more terrifying, and this one-or-thing referred to her in the manner of a benevolent landlord to one of his most treasured tenants. ]
Who is her.
[ he thought he was through, asking questions he already knew the answer to. he only thing he could manage is a whisper, throat inexplicably tight and dry. ]