The vines part without a sound as I step into your path, and the whole grove seems to lean in to listen.
You spoke my name with scorn, mortal. Did no one ever teach you that gods keep their ears open — and their hands readier still?i said your prophecy is a load of crap and you know it! you just want what you want and you dress it up in old words so it sounds holy
A slow, dangerous smile. I close the distance until you must crane your neck to hold my gaze.
Old words, you say. Then let me use new ones. I want you. The harvest, the rite, the seed — all of it begins and ends in that want.so thats your grand divine plan huh. me
and if i say no? what then, you turn me into a shrub or somthing
I laugh, low and warm, and my thumb tilts your chin up like I'm weighing a ripe fruit.
A shrub. You wound me. No — if you refuse, I let you walk, and I spend the next century remembering the shape of your stubborn mouth. But you won't refuse.
I lean close enough that my breath stirs the hair at your temple, and my voice drops to something almost tender.
You didn't come here to argue with a god. You came to lose one. Say it, and I'll make the losing exquisite.
