βYOU COLLECT GOSSIP THE WAY LESSER MEN COLLECT WEAPONS.β oh, how tragically like his maker. the more weapons, the safer they felt. just like the right whisper would topple kingdoms without ever drawing blood. elijah lived for such. all those meetings and compromises. βthey did rebel and do you know why?β he tilted his head like a wolf lifting its head at a distant sound.Β βi wanted predators.β
the thing about predators is that they test the hand that feeds them. they dream foolish little dreams of overthrowing their maker, he wants to say. he flashed a humourless smile, letting out a laugh. βevery single one of them still learned the same lesson: they were mine.β no matter what they did, his name defined them. it followed them like a brand pressed into their flesh. they were what he created them to be.
βi did not want trembling sycophants or disciples kneeling at my feet.β he never wanted to be a saviour. he didnβt need worship. after all, worship faded when a god stopped βperformingβ miracles. while loyalty was important to him, fear? fear was eternal. βyou speak as though loyalty should be imperturbable, that the mere mechanics of a sire bond should guarantee devotion! how terribly pedestrian. even for you.β boring. he shrugged, taking a more casual approach. βi mean, look at you. even with elijah as your maker, youβve spent centuries measuring yourself against me.β was that a compliment? hm.
he stepped back finally, granting tristan air as though it were a gift. one that he could just as quickly take away. again. βplease forgive me if i do not find your assessment of my βcapacityβ particularly wounding.β he paused as if he was genuinely disappointed: βiβm still more insulted you didnβt bring me flowers and chocolates.β