#1 she is fragile in your arms, so small that your hands dwarf her. her robes hang like derelict stardust from her body, trailing lifelessly to the floor over the skin and scales of your arms, the trembling expanse of your wrist. "yumi," you say, because that is the name she told you once upon a time. "yumi," you repeat. you are only greeted with oblivion. #2 it is the way her lashes touch her cheek when she blinks, how the moonlight streams through the window and catches on the plains of her face. in the night time, you can follow the paleness of her skin down the column of her throat, watch as her scales shine and gleam in the dusk. her eyes are beacons in the midst of a storm, and you must be a ship drawn to her light, her love, her smile, the dip of her collarbone overlaid with pearls. you eat the stardust that falls off her body, the supernovas that follow the train of her dress, creating swaths of white across the expanse of the night sky. you follow behind the footfalls of her heels on the marble floors of the temple, to the pedestal upon which they worship her, to the darkness of her room illuminated only by the light of flickering paper lanterns. her smiles are bitter, but you think briefly that flowers are bitter as well, so it doesn't matter. you would lay waste to a meadow for her, to a kingdom, to a world. when she says your name, it is as if only the two of you exist. bathed in twilight, you can only fall in love. deeper, harder, stuffing your chest with cotton until you can't breathe anymore. so, you grow dandelions out of her mouth, chrysanthemums in the core of your throat. it is white, white, and white like her, painted like a statue, like a muse. you realize the irony, of course—of all the gods, only a mortal must be truly divine. #3
on one of his better days, zenos sits across from her, clad in a loose robe with a low collar and even bigger armholes that dip into the expanse of his ribs and torso. an attire for the evening, though rimi has never thought of zenos as anything but perpetually engaged in conflict. yergas is far away, on a battle to oversee, no doubt started by the god sitting right across from her. "ah, but oblivion can take on many forms," he says, like he's read her mind. rimi blinks at him, startled, and he smirks. "your thoughts show on your face, little beast." she hurriedly looks away to a stray pillar on the other side of the room. "why do you keep coming back here?" she asks. zenos presses his elbow languidly on the table and leans forward to look at her. "you are the only one to offer me entertainment," he drawls, voice low. "though i suppose your powers of ruin contribute to that." rimi stiffens. "what are we but one in the same? ruin leads to oblivion, and so we clash as gods should," he continues. "it is the only sport i enjoy." "i don't know what you're talking about." "don't you? or do you not feel a rush of power in the heat of battle, the ability to destroy? far worse than your god of war, i'm sure, and that's why you're afraid," zenos pulls back and stands up from his seat. "but power is power, and what are we but to use them?" "i'm not fighting you today," rimi says instead, frowning. "but you will another time."
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