humans are such terrible things. creatures that cage and kill, that capture and torture. what had Poe ever done to them, except breathe life into their very being, and tend to the forests? what had he ever done to deserve what they had done to him? captured him, slipped iron and silver into him, around him. poisoned him in a way that had sapped his powers. he doesn’t remember how he even escaped.
only that he’s on his own, resting on the grasses and watching the blooms reach for him, green leaves curling as if they can touch him.
but something deep down feels twisted and wrong, and is it possible for a deity to become vengeful, after having a lifetime of peace? he isn’t so sure. he’s heard tale of some of them growing colder, but it feels so wrong for him. feels foreign, and he wonders if it comes from the seeds of silver that had been pressed against his skin, the cage that had held him so helplessly.
he wonders if there’s still bits of silver and iron laced in his veins somehow, causing such a slow recovery. there’s creeping black along his arms, marking where veins and arteries sit, growing darker by the moment. he’s never had a blow quite like this struck against him, no pain like he’d been through in his eons walking the planet. building lives, breathing their first gasps into their lungs and watching them take form.
the flowers around him curl away, as if sensing something wrong, something dark. ivy drops down, and the grasses wither slightly where he rests. where he recovers. the sounds of the forest are long gone, voices gone silent as the quiet seems to mock him.
he stands, staggers, and leaves behind a dark stain in the emerald green of the grasses. even leaves dark steps from where his hooves press down and drag, sucking the life away rather than gifting it.
how do you save a deity from the darker powers of themselves?
after all, the opposite of life is death, Poe’s abilities have always had the possibility to go dark, to sap whatever they touch, to hold back those breaths of life. it feels like that now, with the way the antlers wrap his head like a ghastly crown of bone, how his fingers coil and touch grasses, watching the plant-life retreat from him and wither slowly. surely something dark and twisted has come, and the death of those responsible does nothing to ease it.
his head raises at the sound of someone nearby, and his head turns, rising from the ground like a darkened figure. what was once golden brown fur, spotted and beautiful, has become black and patchy. as if attempting to rot himself away in some form. spiderwebs of black curl through his arms, his torso, his neck. the wrong sense of power laying heavy on him. “ who’s there? ”
@afaroffadventure gets a scary deity
