chaele
worship like a dog
Chaele cannot sympathize. There are many things she cares about, many causes that she would stand for, many lines she would never cross. But she does not know his grief, or what it is like to die. The despair in him is fascinating, if nothing else, a silent suffocation glassed beneath a brining layer of exhaustion. It is almost like death is not a thing a person is meant to come back from.
What she does know is the ache of an unnamed debt. The herbs are worth little to her, their value gained in the context that only Nate could provide. And the truth that she simply enjoyed the act of ritual is not one that would ever leave her mouth. So after a crooked pause of contemplation, she relents a shrug.
There is a sly grin in the cadence of her words, antlers tilted forward like a dare. “What is it worth to you?”
What she does know is the ache of an unnamed debt. The herbs are worth little to her, their value gained in the context that only Nate could provide. And the truth that she simply enjoyed the act of ritual is not one that would ever leave her mouth. So after a crooked pause of contemplation, she relents a shrug.
There is a sly grin in the cadence of her words, antlers tilted forward like a dare. “What is it worth to you?”
at the shrine of my lies
