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IC INBOX ( KENOS ).
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█ To Commune with Set is to stand barefoot in an endless, scorching desert. The sun illuminates all, scalding the shadows themselves out from underneath whomever enters his dominion; the arch of gentle, distant, waves of sand mask the precarious chasms, towering dunes akin to mountains. The sense of vastness, timelessness, is of particular notice, lending itself to the alien, eldritch quality of his mind. There is a dark storm in the distance, and you know intimately that this divine being is far from benign. You cannot bargain with a force of nature. You can only survive it. |
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[ Her drive is delicious, splendid in its fire. That Hayame will not be satisfied with wanton destruction and desires something direct, something tangible that will be as much a confrontation between the two as her explicit vengeance. Set will still involve her in his plans, for Meridian, but on a personal level, he can offer her nearly whatever she desires to ensure her mark is laid upon the existence of the demon who had so thoroughly debased her.
He cannot swear off of Sebastian, not without collapsing his own extension into Zenith. Not without costing Meridian more than a single individual is intrinsically worth in the grand scheme of war, but he can offer her information and assist her in other ways. ]
You may have it, still. And the ruination you will directly bring upon him.
[ He strokes through her hair, down the line of her spine to the hook of her equine half, smoothing a massive palm over her dun pelt and leaving warmth where he trails. She cannot be defeated, if Sebastian's words are forced to become lies. While the truth of them is that Hayame is exceptionally good at isolating herself, it need not be the truth forever; by holding onto her, by accepting her as she is — aggressive and difficult, honor-bound and trying, she can never be taken far. ]
I will share what I have learned about him, his abilities, his connections, his words — I cannot strike with you so directly, but my weapon will be a blow against all Zenites and those who adhere to their beliefs. Shard-bearers and citizens alike, as I carve through the heart of their Lady's throne and aim for her heart. And Sebastian, as always, is yours. Yours to do with as you desire. Should you claim his life, it will be a testament to your power. And I support your goal.
🎀
But the war within her, always within her when dealing with Set, who had first been the deity she swore to but now was some confusing mix of bonds... is that she is not supposed to be ashamed of being seen like this by a friend. She tries to tell herself that she needn't, on top of all the rest. He had come when she was injured in the Hall of Mirrors, she had come when he was raging and haunted by that shade in the fields of Alenroux. She had come when he was bloody and exhausted in the roots of the tree during the Iconoclast Oracle, now he comes to her here in this dark, deep cavern, in the secret place deep inside her communion-mind few have ever attempted to find.
They were... even. They always balanced back out. (Hah... She remembers now, as her fingers cling to Set beneath the fall of his crimson hair. Beneath those roots, when she had brushed Sebastian Michaelis's eye as offering into his mane... She had thought to herself now we are even. Apparently the demon had not agreed.)
Set's touch is warm, where she had been cold in the aftermath, gentle without the mockery that had been in the demon's hands. Here, the wounds inflicted on her body in her desperate struggles to fight back are still present on her soul's vision of her body. Ankles bloody and hairless from rope burn twitch and quiver as his palm travels over bruises, over the thick, spasming knots where her thrashing in the twisted position on the surgery table had ripped the muscles where human-like back moved into equine withers. But under his touch, with the promise of ruination, of knowledge, of support... even if it was not the type she truly longed for, or felt she deserved...
In the physical world, she is curled weak in Claude's lap and her unmade bed, pretending to try and sleep but only just coming down from the hysteria of having to explain to a hidden lover why she had missed their rendezvous and appeared back with two eyes. In communion, she is curled weak in Set's arms, on cold stone, hurt but latching in anguish at anything she can grab. Between their efforts... The injuries are easing from her soul, the pain now only mental, remembered, chased away by warmth. Her tears are hot on Claude's thigh, on Set's shoulder. She can't stop yet, but-
He wanted her to ask him directly for what she needed from him? He wanted people to ask him for the knowledge he stored in his vast, secret war room festooned with stars?]
Give it to me, Set. All of it...
[The burn of tears has made the sickly green of her implanted eye glow with an almost unnatural brightness, the rage crackling in the stormy grey of her natural iris almost eerily absent from the Hag's Eye that did not belong to her body, no matter how it had been forcibly connected to the optic nerve. But she cannot stomach it any longer, she cannot... she does not want to...
Hayame's grip on Set tightens, as if by strength alone she could somehow make him choose her fully, even though she knows she cannot. The eye she despises and is far too tempted to just rip out of her skull herself is hidden when she buries her face in his chest. And the shame... the immediate shame, she has to let drain out of her in his (their) arms, until she is emptied. Only then... then, she can fill it with attacks on Highstorm and her personal revenge.]