you don't even know what 'permanent' means. ( from morpheus. they're being an active terror to spawn Corinth but what is new. )
They sound amused, like there’s a joke he isn’t in on, which worries and excites him in equal measure. The Corinthian—newly named, newly turned—nips at his master’s fingers where they brush over his cheek and lets the points of his fangs graze them. Even this small touch sets him ablaze; how could eternity with this creature, this god-like entity that has elevated him beyond his wildest imaginings, be anything but blissful? If he is permanently bound to Morpheus, as the great lord warned he would be, he is grateful. The things they will do together will make the world shudder.
“I’m not a fool,” he scoffs, “I know what it—“
The fledgling stops, looking suddenly ill with shock. Morpheus is in his head. He can feel him there, a smothering ink-black presence, heavy and low-pitched like his voice. Not doing anything, not yet, but there, and—
How are you doing that, the Corinthian thinks, wide-eyed, and can I stop you, what if I think something you don’t want to hear, and images of the terrible violent things he had done as a man before Morpheus found him, the liquid-red thoughts he’d had of pinning them down and taking their eyes the night they first met, no, stop thinking, stop thinking.
He can’t move.
He can’t speak.
Held in place by no more than his sire’s will—but this is just a demonstration, surely, a joke, because Morpheus would never actually control him like this. He’ll stop. He’ll stop any moment now. I haven’t done anything wrong.
When they release him, the fledgling flinches, chewing down the sudden urge to flee. He calms quickly enough, though; Morpheus hasn’t hurt him, just frightened him.
“That wasn’t funny.” It was a joke, right? Then, frowning: “Can I do it too? To other people?”
