@cosmichunger / cont.
“No. Not quite like a herald.”
Though she can’t deny the way the word sings to her, the joy that surges as Galan so easily insinuates that maybe, maybe she could be—but the cosmos has not chosen that for her. Not yet, if one day it will. Another suggestion, quite different, seems to carry itself in her body, the easy set of her shoulders and the lighted witch-fire of her eyes. She would rather not deceive him. She would rather he know of what she speaks, come willingly.
“Perhaps as something else,” she answers softly, and yes, she’s still quite small next to him, so much that to take his hands in hers, she could feel almost childlike. Her fingertips wander his palms and the fate inscribed there. “If it would please you to have me.”
galan’s destructive energy weaves around her aura of chaos, dancing and playing with those ephemeral wisps as he accepts her presence within his space; he will not consume her, for she is a cosmic agent of crucial importance, and because he could use the company. hands fashioned of unfathomable illusion turn skyward to her bidding, allowing the touch. the devourer’s vessel welcomes the suggestion of it - he begins to understand its carnal nature.
“tell me, prophetess.” his cosmic gaze sweeps over her form with an intensity that would break the strongest of wills, if it weren’t for her divinity. he needs not his cosmic awareness to remember certain aspects of life. “do you mean for me to have you in bodily communion, as sentient creatures do? to drink from your ambrosial font? ”
