@godbanes (dionysus) // s.c.
It began with a feeling, an itching among the small hairs on the nape of his neck.
On its own, it would not have meant very much. Feelings, even the body that felt them, these things were inconstant and ever-changing. Enough time mucking about on the Earth had taught the old god that much. But this feeling stuck around, grew, an unpleasant friend unversed in social cues. No matter where he went -- no matter which back alley he skulked through, no matter which billboards he scaled for a thrill, no matter how fast he ran and ran and ran until he could almost pretend his shoes were once more winged -- the feeling grew and grew.
Now he was walking the street, a light rain pitter-pattering on the sidewalk. Again came the feeling, and this time he spun around, flinging an accusatory finger in the direction of the man behind him.
“Why are you following me?”
