Xoana “You’re like. . . an angel to me. . . please, praise me in return for my worship. . .”
Your hair, sticky with tears, was brushed from your face. You pushed Eli's paw away. "Leave me alone," you whispered. Eli sighed and moved to sit behind you. "Go away." He sighed again and began to play with your hair.
"My sweetness, what do you wish of me?" He asked gently, pawing at your hair and back. You gulped back a sob. You didn't even know what you wanted. "My dear-"
"Just leave." you said softly, almost mumbling. Eli simply played with your hair some more, humming to himself.
"My beloved. . . you're like an angel to me. . ." he whispered, leaning close. You could feel his breath on your cheek. "please, praise me in return for my worship. . .”
Nothing's okay, nothing will ever be okay, not as long as that filthy. . . human still lives.
The inside of Eli's mask was coated in tears and spit, he'd been wailing and sobbing for hours at this point, but he wasn't taking that thing off. No matter how disgusting it felt to keep it on.
He clawed at his mask's beak, vainly attempting to calm down. Who was he if he couldn't appear strong and unmoving for his flock? He was their rock, their safe harbor, and he has failed them.
It felt awful, like someone had opened up his body and taken his heart. Eli could hardly think with all the emotions swarming in his brain, he needed his followers back, more than they needed him- he was nothing without his people.
"FUCK!" He slammed his fists onto the ground with a strangled cry. He felt weak. Pathetic. Just as worthless and stupid as ol' Doctor Crackpot. He hated it, hated remembering how the taunting and teasing ruined his mind, how his true name was all but forgotten in favor of that stupid fucking insult.
It was happening again.
The way his flock would quiet around him, how the once bustling sewers were barren- they left him as food for the zombies.
That's all Eli's good for, anyways. What a fool he was to think he could sway the masses when that "hero" walks Nevada. That. . . human-thing. Nothing he could do would compete, would it? Should he give up, stay in his room and waste away? Let starvation claim him?
He was just. . . so scared. What would become of his flock? Without the guidance of their practices, what would happen to them?
No.
He's crazy. Just that strange man who got a job and promptly fucked it up at every turn. Just a stupid, worthless, naïve scientist who thought he could help.
I am not surprised at all that a simp alter/cult being made. They really do seem like the type.
("alter" is a headmate, "altar" is the word ur looking for lol)
He would tho! They fucking ask you how they can make it better suited as a place to worship u while ur just like "we havent talked in 20 years what the fuck is happening"
