A curious rush of moisture beads on the tip of his tongue as he feels the paradoxically delicate bones beneath his fingers, and though it's her form that he feels, he's aware of how this maps onto his own flesh as well. Her descriptions, like dark poetry, tickle the small hairs in his ears. Beautiful, cosmic, uninteresting—each word a brushstroke on the canvas of their shared experience.
"These bodies were based on the best of them," he muses, his voice a low murmur that echoed in the quiet space between them. His words, draped in an arrogant satisfaction of being a creature able to perceive the intricacies of mortal existence through the lens of ancient wisdom, and to scoff at it. "How they would mewl to hear that the pinnacle of what they might achieve in their lifetimes we think of as slow and weak."
"Of course it has, but it hardly matters. Let them look, and measure, and guess at what it all might mean." His tone is dismissive, and his indifference is thinly veiled. "They'll tilt their faces wonderingly up to the sky and pretend that they know enough to keep themselves safe."
Turning away his eyes fixed upon her, cold and calculating. "Now, let me look at you." The request, though spoken with a veneer of curiosity, bore the weight of scrutiny. His gaze dissected, not with admiration, but with the detached precision of a scientist examining a specimen, or a general examining his army.
"These bodies were based on the best of them," he muses, his voice a low murmur that echoed in the quiet space between them. His words, draped in an arrogant satisfaction of being a creature able to perceive the intricacies of mortal existence through the lens of ancient wisdom, and to scoff at it. "How they would mewl to hear that the pinnacle of what they might achieve in their lifetimes we think of as slow and weak."
"Of course it has, but it hardly matters. Let them look, and measure, and guess at what it all might mean." His tone is dismissive, and his indifference is thinly veiled. "They'll tilt their faces wonderingly up to the sky and pretend that they know enough to keep themselves safe."
Turning away his eyes fixed upon her, cold and calculating. "Now, let me look at you." The request, though spoken with a veneer of curiosity, bore the weight of scrutiny. His gaze dissected, not with admiration, but with the detached precision of a scientist examining a specimen, or a general examining his army.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
But we had names more intimate
