The young god sat upon the beach, bandaged arms wrapped tightly around his legs, pulling them close to his chest. His eyes were trained upon the sun falling behind the horizon, reddened from the seemingly never-ending tears that stained his cheeks. The sea would push onto the shore, wetting his bare feet, a small comfort, even if the God of the Sea had not come to aid their tortured child. It was a cold, dark, && safe place. Unlike the shore where things were too loud && too bright for the little god.
&& it was were the humans were. The cruel, cold, unfeeling humans.
Pounding footsteps on the sand grew closer && closer towards his secluded space, away from the villagers' scornful gazes, once so full of love. Panicking, the god shuffled across the ground, pressing his back to a nearby rock. His injuries, although stitched && bandaged, were far too great to do anything besides cover his face && pray that his attacker didn't have a blessed weapon on their person.
Lovecraft waited. && waited. && waited. But no attack came. Instead, whoever had approached him was merely staring, like he was some sort of prized catch by a fisherman, hoisted up for all the village to see. He kept his arms in place, still covering his features, trembling.
❝ D-don't hurt me! Please, ❞ He'd begun crying again, pressing himself harder against the rock in an attempt to make himself smaller than he already was, ❝ I'll leave you alone I promise. Ju-just don't try to cut me open again! ❞
