( cutthroat island // accepting ) KETHERIC [ @governoir ] WROTE: ❝The thing is, ma'am, I'm basically a hollow man.❞
A SOUL COULD NOT FORGET decaying. How many times had her body been taken apart piece-by-piece like a clockwork doll and then reforged in silver fire? How many times had her memories been sunk or shaped or siphoned by divine will so that her own life became something she understood through the stories of others? The body could heal. The mind could forget. But, the soul would always know.
It was the way the undead roused a sense of grotesque kinship. The way the barest whisper of necrotic energy coated her throat like ash. And, Ketheric dragged death behind him like a king's mantle. From the wrong angle, even his circlet could be mistaken for a ring of his own skull breaking through the flesh. She was careful not to look from that angle. Careful not to think too hard about crowns fusing with skulls and what they looked like shattered. She was glad Mystra had forbidden Her Chosen from interfering here — and ashamed to be glad. The Mother of Mysteries had mercifully made her forget what his mere presence threatened to drag from the grave. She would not flee, but she was well-practiced at remaining rooted in denial.
Centuries of politicking reshaped her unease into a peerless poise. With her hands folded before her and her white skirts pooled perfectly at her feet, she could have been posing for a state portrait. Only her silver braids, writhing like snakes, betrayed her.
❝I won't ask what hollowed you. It is always grief. Ironic that the departure of our own souls cannot leave us so empty as the deaths of those we love.❞ The sorrow in her voice was genuine. She spoke from experience. ❝But, a hollow will inevitably be filled. Are you satisfied with what occupies yours, Ketheric Thorm?❞