03-08-2018, 01:27 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-18-2018, 06:37 PM by King Ghidorah.)
I fly Heath's body out to the cliff-face on the far-side of the lake and wedge it in a crevice half-way up the rock-face, concealed among the crimson stones. After that, it's a breathless flight through a cold and twinkling velvet sky. My golden hair flaps in the breeze as I rush back to the lane outside the tavern, eager to subject Chatterly's minions to my freshly-critical perspective.
There's nobody there. The post-midnight streets are deserted; Cutter and his companions have all returned to wherever it is they go when they're not offending my sensibilities. I stand on the cobblestones and seethe, digesting what I've learned and riding a tide of furious insight.
I'm not just being coerced; I'm not just being watched; As offensive as the idea might be (and it's dismaying to think how much easier it is credit than it would have been a month ago) it seems that I'm being manipulated, choreographed, prompted! 'We've gotten pretty good at predicting how you'll react...'
At some point, my pretense of allowing these people to use me became a reality.
I grit my serrated teeth, my pride finally bending past its limit. My head feels too tight. Orange sparks of cosmic energy crackle across my torch-lit golden body. I clench my fists, looking up at the too-bright stars, a mocking facsimile of the cosmos I once ruled, and a bold decision casts its cold, brilliant shadow across my brain:
I'll go to the Duke's party. I'll stomach Chatterly's preparations, whatever they might entail, however humiliating they might be. Over the next two weeks, I will let them all believe that I've been cowed, that I am entirely their creature - but that will be the end of it. This experiment is over; Damn Chatterly and his secrets, damn the Duke and his mysterious niece, damn Mothra, and damn this valley. In my efforts to understand this place, its nuance and deep aesthetic value, I've allowed myself to become ensnared by it.
No more!
This Gala will indeed serve to announce my presence to the Outerlying Duchies, but not in the way William Conrad van Harnburg expects. At long last I'll kill him - and I'll do it in front of all of his guests. Whatever contingencies Chatterly has planned, whatever consequences my actions might invite, I'll deal with them as they come. With any luck, I may recover enough power between now and then to render his preparations moot, and burn the entire duchy down around him.
I'll even fight Mothra if she deigns to appear, whether I recover my powers or not. If it's necessary for me to flee before her superior size and strength then so be it; At least she's a god! I refuse to be made a slave by mere men. Anything, even banishment, is preferable.
I smile savagely. For the first time since my ignoble defeat, I feel like myself again.
There's nobody there. The post-midnight streets are deserted; Cutter and his companions have all returned to wherever it is they go when they're not offending my sensibilities. I stand on the cobblestones and seethe, digesting what I've learned and riding a tide of furious insight.
I'm not just being coerced; I'm not just being watched; As offensive as the idea might be (and it's dismaying to think how much easier it is credit than it would have been a month ago) it seems that I'm being manipulated, choreographed, prompted! 'We've gotten pretty good at predicting how you'll react...'
At some point, my pretense of allowing these people to use me became a reality.
I grit my serrated teeth, my pride finally bending past its limit. My head feels too tight. Orange sparks of cosmic energy crackle across my torch-lit golden body. I clench my fists, looking up at the too-bright stars, a mocking facsimile of the cosmos I once ruled, and a bold decision casts its cold, brilliant shadow across my brain:
I'll go to the Duke's party. I'll stomach Chatterly's preparations, whatever they might entail, however humiliating they might be. Over the next two weeks, I will let them all believe that I've been cowed, that I am entirely their creature - but that will be the end of it. This experiment is over; Damn Chatterly and his secrets, damn the Duke and his mysterious niece, damn Mothra, and damn this valley. In my efforts to understand this place, its nuance and deep aesthetic value, I've allowed myself to become ensnared by it.
No more!
This Gala will indeed serve to announce my presence to the Outerlying Duchies, but not in the way William Conrad van Harnburg expects. At long last I'll kill him - and I'll do it in front of all of his guests. Whatever contingencies Chatterly has planned, whatever consequences my actions might invite, I'll deal with them as they come. With any luck, I may recover enough power between now and then to render his preparations moot, and burn the entire duchy down around him.
I'll even fight Mothra if she deigns to appear, whether I recover my powers or not. If it's necessary for me to flee before her superior size and strength then so be it; At least she's a god! I refuse to be made a slave by mere men. Anything, even banishment, is preferable.
I smile savagely. For the first time since my ignoble defeat, I feel like myself again.