#oriphical

❛  aw...  worried?  ❜ a  light  tone,  no  different  from  the  dancing  of  fairies  came,  coupled  with  lips  turned  up  in  a  teasing,  devilish  grin.  perhaps  the  greatest  pasttime  in  the  world  could  be  digging  up  new  oddities  for  it  to  unravel,  to  say  things  that  put  it  through  some  mental  gymnastics.  after  all,  if  one  could  fail  to  provide  entertainment  one  way,  another  way  was  always  available.  no  one  would  know  this  dance  that  the  horror  enjoyed,  none  save  for  this  one.  ❛  don't  be,  i  promise  i  won't  start  biting.  ❜ a  deep  drag  of  a  cigarette,  a  slow  exhale...  miel's  vices  were  multiplying  as  they  spoke.

serpentine  tongues  always  change,  dear  cosmos,  never  forget.

A SNEER LACED WITH CONTEMPT flashes across his visage, severe and brutally unremitting, monarchal grandeur undercut in visions of unparalleled violence, the perfect lines of his physiognomy creasing with each aural indication of his treasures being treated as mere toys. Gilgamesh’s back begins turned, lashes fluttering to near close though sufficing little to obscure the hyperbrutality of the radiant alizarin surging from narrowing eyes, as though no pavilion could suffice to quarter their seething lush. The king’s solid form remains unerringly dignified as he crosses his arms beneath his chest, chin ever-raised, his vociferation cold-flame cataclysm in F# Major, baryton-noble bone-chilling. “I now see why the servant rabble think you paradoxical, Destroyer. Your insolence alone serves as confirmation. Only the greatest treasures should exist in these halls, yet here you stand before me, sullying this golden fact.”

THE average trespasser would be MERCILESSLY SKEWERD, their remains a warning, leaving minimal doubt as to the presumed fate of one who treated the contents of his treasury as if they were above such repudiation. It was an act often inspired by some degree of ignorance, folly, or some bastard composite. All permutations met the same fate. Yet in this vault, beyond the standard governances of space and time, such physics-based perturbations would not affect the integrity of his collection. This fact does ill to quell his simmering ire at such insolence — such brazen display of inscience. Destroyer was hardly worthy of gazing upon that which it held, let alone marring it with its touch. Everything within the Gate of Babylon presided there because it possessed an unimpeachable value — a value Gilgamesh declared as King. Invaluable had he deemed each one without exception, deserving of his plunder and judgment. 

SO worthy were the creations of Man, the endlessness of his coffers testament to the fact that mankind had yet to be exhausted of its greatest possibilities. 

AND here this Servant was, treating that space as its personal playground. He ought to return the treatment in such brutal kind, the nature of his environs the only deterrent from such retribution. The thought of further sullying his treasures bordered on sin. 

“I shall not entertain value judgments from a child who possesses no scale. I see a husk that thinks itself grand, lacking both the lifetimes and perspective to properly appraise even a mere stone. In this you are but a mayfly. Your words are meaningless.” The King concludes, with minimal tarry, that the even the smallest treasure here possessed a greater value than what could be comprehended by the Foreigner, who appeared in possession in several misapprehensions — including the notion that anything in his possession existed for its personal amusement, and that its puerile antics were worthy of his time. He felt no need for the debasement inherent in explication. After all, he did not try to convince the gods of man’s worth in liberation — he simply cut the shackles they imposed and let them rot without another word. 

REMAINING still, as though permitting the sun to shine upon an unworthy mote of dust, the King turns his head, aureate cilia framing serpentine rubies slitted with uncut derision, his sonorous voice equally merciless. “You are boring, Destroyer, perhaps even more than you are an annoyance. The only gratification a small mind can pay to a great one is remaining fallen when slaughtered, and even that you fail to offer me.