"Don't be foolish," the high priest had said. "Our Lord cannot be moody. He is beyond such base things."
But the other priests and priestesses had all looked at one another and exchanged eyerolls. Whatever the equivalent to moody was in a god of unspeakable power, he was definitely it as the wedding day approached. He hid in the corners and refused to look at any more books, watch any more demonstrations, or listen to one more lengthy prayer about it. They had been preparing him for the inevitability of his Vessel-Bride since he had memory, which made it several centuries now. The past few weeks, the preparations increased to near-frantic levels. But now, at last, the day was here. The Bride was arrived. The God spent his last few moments of solitude huddled in the back of the room, trying to recall it all.
It wasn't that he didn't want to be married. He only wanted to do it right. The Vessel-Bride was Important, the most important subject he would ever have, and he only had one chance to perform as he was supposed to. His Duty and Responsibility were tied to her, and everyone was Depending on him. (The priests told him what all those words meant, but he only had a fleeting grasp on their definitions. A priestess tried to make it easier for him: he must do those things because they are Good. He wanted to be Good.)
As she entered, though, he found all the teachings and lessons easily escaping him. It was one thing to have everything shown to him by his priests and priestesses, his trusted servants. But when he saw her, her, it was suddenly hard to put everything together.
In the depths of the room, he was little more than two glowing orange eyes in the dark, floating head-high in the shadows. He recognized the bow. A sign of respect, as the priests did. But unlike the priests, he was meant to get closer to her. He could touch her. He'd never touched anyone before, and now the first and only person he could was there in the threshold.
The eyes rose up, taller, taller, to a monstrous height, as the shadows themselves came slinking out of the darkness. His body was little more than a formless mass of shadows, occasionally mimicking something constant but only for a moment. He moved completely silently, slowly easing towards the door.
His orange eyes floated in the dark mass of his body, somewhere near the top that could generously be called a head. His body engulfed a stone altar in the center of the room, lit with candles. But he went no closer, only "perching" on the altar and watching her.
no subject
But the other priests and priestesses had all looked at one another and exchanged eyerolls. Whatever the equivalent to moody was in a god of unspeakable power, he was definitely it as the wedding day approached. He hid in the corners and refused to look at any more books, watch any more demonstrations, or listen to one more lengthy prayer about it. They had been preparing him for the inevitability of his Vessel-Bride since he had memory, which made it several centuries now. The past few weeks, the preparations increased to near-frantic levels. But now, at last, the day was here. The Bride was arrived. The God spent his last few moments of solitude huddled in the back of the room, trying to recall it all.
It wasn't that he didn't want to be married. He only wanted to do it right. The Vessel-Bride was Important, the most important subject he would ever have, and he only had one chance to perform as he was supposed to. His Duty and Responsibility were tied to her, and everyone was Depending on him. (The priests told him what all those words meant, but he only had a fleeting grasp on their definitions. A priestess tried to make it easier for him: he must do those things because they are Good. He wanted to be Good.)
As she entered, though, he found all the teachings and lessons easily escaping him. It was one thing to have everything shown to him by his priests and priestesses, his trusted servants. But when he saw her, her, it was suddenly hard to put everything together.
In the depths of the room, he was little more than two glowing orange eyes in the dark, floating head-high in the shadows. He recognized the bow. A sign of respect, as the priests did. But unlike the priests, he was meant to get closer to her. He could touch her. He'd never touched anyone before, and now the first and only person he could was there in the threshold.
The eyes rose up, taller, taller, to a monstrous height, as the shadows themselves came slinking out of the darkness. His body was little more than a formless mass of shadows, occasionally mimicking something constant but only for a moment. He moved completely silently, slowly easing towards the door.
His orange eyes floated in the dark mass of his body, somewhere near the top that could generously be called a head. His body engulfed a stone altar in the center of the room, lit with candles. But he went no closer, only "perching" on the altar and watching her.