if he thought about it, "dark rebellion" and "clear wing" were rather attractive modifiers. of course, that too extended to "odd eyes". if he asked the mortals, they would respond in the same way. yes, like "modifiers", like "titles. to them, these were not their names, but merely what history would remember of them, years and years into the future. these "modifiers" would be the medium through which their stories are (or aren't) told. as starve venom holds the fading light of odd eyes' soul in his palm, he pauses to think about what such "futures" hold for them. he pauses to think about the history of what they have carved until today, and what history would be distorted when he would next see odd eyes in the lifestream. to mortals, these were but their "titles", their "modifiers". the queen with dichromatic eyes, the knight who fought against the calamities clad in black armor, the beautiful bandit king soaring on wings of jade. their lives and their history had been decided the moment the mortals heard these modifiers. odd eyes, dark rebellion, clear wing. yet he wonders what is is they must think of his name.
starve venom stares out into the horizon of the ocean, where odd eyes' body must rest beneath the waves, buried in the undertow. what kind of feeling did "stare venom" evoke? what kind of stories could they tell with a modifier such as his? what was it that he hungered for? what was he "starving"? he looks at the light of odd eyes' soul, tiny and weak against the palm of his hand. in such a state, even the almighty queen could not resist him, but then again, it would be more correct to say she never could. "what a regrettable end," he says into the ocean air instead, the soles of his shoes touching on the water's surface as if it were solid. ripples form at his feet. "i don't quite like the ending to this story, odd eyes." the soul does not respond to him, but he does not expect her to. she is at the brink of passing on, teetering on the world line between death and salvation. yet, starve venom holds her here as if she were nothing more than a discarded toy, hand precariously positioned over the mouth of a wastebin. he will not let her go, he knows this, but with every passing moment, she slips further from his grasp, as if resisting his will. but this, too, is something he expected. because this is what he loves most about her, "odd eyes", and her story. "perhaps a god should not be so attached," he muses, raising the light of her soul up to his mouth. "i could eat you as you are now, and you would stay with me forever." the depths of his stomach rumble. but he does not want it to be over. perhaps it is a lingering sense of familiarity—his hunger has always been a part of him, but even faced with the option to sate it now and forevermore, he does not. no, he simply isn't satisfied with this. "there is more to your story," he says, cupping the light with two hands now. something in his eyes flicker. "so you must carry on." starve venom blows the soul from his palms like the seeds of a daffodil, and he watches her soul scatter into the distant horizon. "i look forward to when we next meet again." the god of creation and destruction turns his back, and makes his way to the shore.
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