“Knowing how and having the opportunity to feast in a world not tailored for you are two different things,” they snark back, shoulders tensing up as they speak. The flowers stay clutched to their chest; beautiful red germanium petals pressed against their dirty sweater. “As for speaking, I am trying to determine whenever you will try to take my head off for saying anything. But if you want me to talk, I will talk.”
Their legs are shaking, though Chara attempts to mask that by pushing them into the plush grass. They don’t flinch at the knives coming closer — they’re not afraid of weapons.
They’re afraid of the humans that wield them.
admitting to the fact that they’re afraid of love seems like a disservice to the Dreemurrs, despite the fact that they know they never deserved it. Chara reaches out for more of the fallen petals instead of responding, defiant if anything.
“I do not know why I should pray for your entertainment,” they add, fingers curling against some fallen petals. Chara brings them back, tucks them in safely. “You are playing trying to scare me like a god would. But god has never been on my side. God does not look out for me. God does not consider my prayers important. I do not find Them worth praying to when I know They will not answer.”
They had tried so much as a child. Tried to pray right. Tried to beg. Tried to plead for mercy.
nothing had worked, until they discarded their prayers and climbed the mountain.
Chara keeps their chin up.
“I will not do such a thing. Not for you. So if you are going to kill me with your knives, I prefer you make it quick. It is not the first time I have been killed and it will not be the last.”
Red eyes glow.
They’re filled with determination.
All Knives sees in those eyes is more wretched, undeserved pride. Rotted young and arrogant… Every human was the same to the last.
"…'Prefer'?"
The steel snake that had carved the long-grown bark from a great tree whips toward it again, slicing its body such that it soon wraps around a neat branchless log of it. Other tendrils splay outward to support the manipulation of it. Meanwhile, foliage topples over on the ground, a sound like breaking bones alongside final susurrations of leaves. Fleeing birds are lucky enough to have wings to take them away to safety, abandoning their nests for survival.
"You've told me that no one will come for you. Not even who you're picking flowers for." It's rather pitiful, for Chara to continue going on like this while refusing to submit to the reality of their situation. But they're quickly proving that the pity is wasted.
Ah, what a shame. They were nearly there. If only they were smart enough to recognize that God is in front of them, even going as far as to hear their prayers…
Only to see fit to reject Him when He's made terrifyingly incarnate.
"I will crush part of your body underneath this tree, trapping you there," the Plant says plainly, as though forecasting something more mundane than death, "It will hurt; you will suffer greatly. The night will be dark, and death will come slowly.
"Will you pray then, or do you prefer to do that now?"












