𝕯𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑

"There's no particular occasion at hand... but well, you'll see..." Melkor said vaguely. Of course, the impending doom upon Gondolin was an occasion; however, that would come at the right time.

Darkness swells to a crescendo with the stature of his Lord, and even the light of the furnaces cannot recoup for the way Melkor swathes him in shadow. The lieutenant turns then, body coiling to behold his Master. Chin lifts in quiet curiosity, yet his eyes seek to veil their apprehension. For he had not been wont to see the prince admitted so, unbidden, into the halls of their dominion. ( How much more he would have delighted to receive him within the dread confines of his own chamber of torments! ) Alas, it is not his place to question this decision, and he yields evermore to Melkor's will.

She of great hunger so desperately wants to play with her food, watch the wriggling serpent of a Maiar threaten Her and bolster himself. For with the draining of such abominable wells, her belly swelled full, her darkness could have even eclipsed Melkor's, if the one she lent herself to was not careful, that is. So to her, this feeble little glimmer, this flame of Aulë turned sour by the scouring umbral tainting of Morgoth's embrace. His bitter fire seemed so much more appetizing than the tithe of gems he pulled from his throat.

A comparative pittance these gemstones forged of Valar fire were, Her eyes tell the tale. Lingering upon him, upon his wrist, up his arm, to imagine draining the light from his throat. The abyssal shadow of the spider darkens, and lithe faux-humanoid fingers drift to carry the necklace from his fingers. Swaying her hip with a confidence that had been earned in the fear of otherworldly demigods who so feared Her hunger.

"It is not the gems themselves, little fair one." The spider lingers, her umbral eyes, lined with starving red, shower their freshly carved surroundings before falling back upon the Maiar and his self important gaze. His design, Mairon says, Lord Melkor, he says. She struts, She lords, she is the darkness before darkness itself, the light before Eru.

"If they were fed to me, they were never your gems." She warns with slithering tongue, gaze twisting upon him as ethereal she sucks the luster and sheen from his gems, leaving them little more than dull matted rocks, set upon the oxidized metal. Uncreated, in their own way.

Much had to do with the three Gems in Melkor's burned hand, he deems. For these Gems, a legion of wretched Noldor Elves pursue them now into the dark and lay claim to the lands of Middle Earth which are Melkor's by right. Their little kingdoms might as well be made of straw for how the darkness shall blow them away, but conquest takes preparation, and time is lacking. For these Gems, Ungoliant had come, too. He bore it ill that his Lord had cast them in Her eternal debt, for her belly seems a cavernous Hall, and Mairon does not know how they are to feed Her and to appease Her during her stay.

❛ If light is your banquet, ❜ He perceives her hungry gaze upon the flame of his own spirit, like the crawling of a thousand insects upon flesh. Stands his ground, does the Lieutenant of Morgoth, veiled only in the feeble protection afforded to him by virtue of his affiliation, to the extent the Weaver iindulges this Alliance. ❛ Then Lord Melkor ever shall deliver. Once the Host of the West has capitulated, their light shall be your portion. ❜

Carmen Laforet, from Nada