#lost writing

The Lamb starts to shake. The force, the emphasis on that word, on vessel, he knows it must boil the lamb’s blood. He intended it to. He grits his teeth, an action he hopes they cannot see, knowing that he has to do this. “Surely, my lord, you can just take the Crown back? You need not-”

-

“What did you expect to await you at the end? I am Death itself, of course only I would await you at the end of your path. Now approach, vessel, and lay your life down at my feet.”

It wasn’t enough. They still hope.

Five becomes four, becomes three, becomes two, becomes one, becomes... nothing.

It has been thousands of years.

He just wants to be free.

“And what, keep you alive? Your purpose is served, vessel. You cannot argue with fate. Serve your final purpose-”

“Is... is that all I was to you?” Their voice drips with desperation. “Just a vessel, a pawn of fate meant to free you and no more?” Their expression is pleading, hoping that they are wrong and he will laugh, and tell them he was testing them, to see if they were strong enough or worthy or something.