He stood watching her from the corner of his eye. Uncertain as he was with why she drew him with her but did not speak, he still found that he loved being around her. It felt...
He didn't know how it felt, but it wasn't bad. He didn't think it was bad.
And then she finally turned around and addressed him. For the first time since they were brought into this existence, she addressed him. It was difficult not to smile at the fact.
He took her words as invitation, and sat down beside her, dropping his legs over the edge the way she did. But he didn't sit too close.
Staring down into the forming world, he said shortly, "You draw me. It is not the other way around. Darkness does not need Night."
He left the rest, "Night needs Darkness," unspoken. She didn't seem to want to hear that.
Nyx's face registered intense displeasure at his assertion that she was drawing him. She didn't want him there at all! She wanted to... dance, she was certain of that, and think about the universe, and be quiet, and allow riotousness to burgeon and climax and fade out within her. He didn't need her? And what did that mean? That she needed him?
At the same time, his proximity affected her somehow; made her aware of many more things than she seemed to be when he wasn't close. He wasn't looking at her, and she found she didn't like that either, and she didn't like that she didn't like it.
This was all very disconcerting.
"Why in the Universe would I draw you?" she frowned.
"I don't need you. I'm just trying to go about my business," she said almost haughtily.
Erebos said nothing at her assertion. He checked his fingernails, then dropped his hands back into his lap.
Perhaps she was right. But he remembered his mother’s words, a scant breath before he rose from where he was created, a scant breath before Nyx herself was spun into this new life - “This one will be for you. And you are for her. You will not separate from her, nor she from you. You need each other. Do not forget it.”
Perhaps it was she whom he needed after all. Determined to test this, he leaned back on his hands, and stared up into the ether.
"As you say," he commented. And then he started drawing away from everywhere that he had been, allowing light and brightness to pervade every part of the forming world, and every part of the rest of existence. He sat like a black hole on the edge of the world, his entire being turning dark with the power he withheld.
Standing from the edge, he began to walk away from her, stoically ignoring the strong pull he felt from her. "Carry on," he said over his shoulder.
She felt his withdrawal, and blinked, content for a moment. This light, this brightness, felt foreign and strange to her, produced only by his absence. Khaos had created her, but time had arranged her, and all the things inside of her refused to come out in such a cruel open space. She watched him go, taking his Darkness with him, incarnating it in his black form
( ... )
Once Nyx left, he turned around and walked back to where he had been sitting with her before. His hand, black from his concentrated essence, reached out and touched the space that Nyx vacated, reached, touched, and withdrew
( ... )
There were things not happening that should be happening. Those things that lived were becoming restless. Those things that coveted rejuvenation, rest, mischief, and change stood waiting
( ... )
He couldn't smile at her. Looking anywhere but at her, he mumbled a hello to her again.
It was enough that she had come. He had seen the restlessness of life in the world, knew that reason for it, and most of all, knew why Nyx was there in front of him, hovering like beauty itself. He could not bring himself to make her ask him to return what he had drawn away. He'd made his point; he didn't have to be cruel about it.
He let out a breath, and with it came darkness descending on the world, filling it again in the places it was needed. The release was not a moment too soon. The tension in his back and shoulders relaxed, only to be replaced with a different sort of tension.
They were back to where they started, silent, saying nothing. He knew somehow that she wanted more, but...
She didn't like him.
He winced once, just a little, then shifted positions where he sat.
"Nice work," he said, trying to meet her half-way.
When he released himself back into the world, she felt herself released into him, as well as being fulfilled in some way that she hadn't recognized until it was gone. Life was getting a move on now that Night and Darkness were once again working in tandem, and the things she'd set in motion below were beginning to blossom.
"Thank you," she mumbled back, less gracefully than she should.
She had just come into the world, and to know that her fate was inextricably, inexorably bound with another's felt unfair and binding.
His graciousness only made her more ashamed, and tentatively, she floated over, back to the edge, and sat near him, though not touching him at all.
She saw him wince, and she saw him tense up, and she frowned again.
"Are you... all right then?" she asked in a way that would have been gruff, if not for the fact that her voice and demeanor were nothing but silky.
He turned his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. He did his best not to look at her when she sat down, but it was. Difficult.
Every so often, he snuck a glance and told himself moments afterwards that he didn't do it. Not really.
Then her voice came again, and it was rough but so very very smooth, and it hit him in spots he didn't realize existed yet within him. He suppressed another wince, and nodded. "Yes."
He wouldn't admit why he was uncomfortable. He couldn't see why it mattered, or even why she would care. Once more, he examined his nails, then stared out over the edge again. It was very good to be out and about once more. He didn't like being pent up like that. He made a mental note never to do that again. Hurt too much.
His skin was fading from black to silver to gray to pale again, rapidly. He paid it little heed.
"I'm sorry," he said.
What he was sorry for, however, he didn't elaborate on. He didn't want to speak the words. I'm sorry you're stuck with me.
Her gaze turned to him briefly, deep dark eyes surveying his form. It was impossible to deny that he compelled her. But that didn't make her like it
( ... )
He stared over the lip of the world and resolutely did. not. look. It was not easy. For the time, he had to ignore the way she got huffy when they didn't speak. Or specifically, when he didn't speak. Letting time pass over their heads, he devised an answer. When he was sure that it didn't give too much away, he finally brought it out of darkness, into the light, and gave it to her.
"You are unhappy. It only seemed polite to say it." And there was a new word now, which he just spoke. But it seemed to fit and he didn't think Nyx would have any problem understanding it.
His voice penetrated her being somehow. The sound of him didn't bounce off her skin and go back out, no. It slipped right into her core, and it made her shiver just a little
( ... )
He frowned when she turned to face him. Yes, he saw her movement from the corner of his eye, and that was fine. But he noticed that he felt her movement as well. He hadn't noticed before, but thinking about it a moment more, he realized that it had always been so. He had always been aware of her movements.
This troubled him.
Not because he disliked the fact, no. Because he was afraid (another new word, afraid) that if he told her, she wouldn't like it. She didn't like him enough already, in his estimation. There was no need to push her dislike further
( ... )
Her fingers curled around the world's end, and she blinked at the sensation of it. She felt it. Not in the way that she felt his gaze when he looked at her, but in a wholly different way. She was... touching something. That was new. That was different. Gaia was down below, her earth created, bearing forth the sea, the sky, and the mountains. She wanted to go and look, to... touch... those things, as well
( ... )
His eyes broke from his will when he felt her edge closer to him. He turned to look at her, then looked away almost immediately. Holding her gaze was too difficult. Maybe later, when he was used to her dislike.
But she wasn't acting like she disliked him, now. She moved closer, did she not? She asked about his well-being, did she not?
He had to keep reminding himself that he was just about the only one around. Mother didn't count; she was too busy anyway. No, he was almost the only one around that Nyx could speak with, and he knew that any company was better than no company at all.
Except when they disliked you.
He huffed and then answered her question, perhaps a little more abruptly than he should have wanted to.
"Yes. All is well."
A sidelong glance to her tried to tell him whether or not she believed it.
"Mother is doing quite a job down there," he said, trying to pull her attention
Oh, what a frown she gave him when he was curt, when he was abrupt!
If all was well and he would speak to her so, then he must not like her at all! And what nerve, for him not to like her! She was perfectly pleasant, wasn't she? Was she displeasing in some way? She looked down at herself. Then, she became more agitated when she realized that she cared quite a lot if he didn't like her, which was completely unfair, since it was she who had done the not liking first. Beyond that, she wasn't even sure she didn't like him anymore. This once again put her in the unenviable position of having an affinity for him that he did not reciprocate.
Moving her body back to the place it had been before she'd drawn closer, she mumbled a reply, trying unskillfully to feign indifference.
"Yes. Mum is wonderful." Nyx bet that Erebos liked Khaos just fine.
He didn't know how it felt, but it wasn't bad. He didn't think it was bad.
And then she finally turned around and addressed him. For the first time since they were brought into this existence, she addressed him. It was difficult not to smile at the fact.
He took her words as invitation, and sat down beside her, dropping his legs over the edge the way she did. But he didn't sit too close.
Staring down into the forming world, he said shortly, "You draw me. It is not the other way around. Darkness does not need Night."
He left the rest, "Night needs Darkness," unspoken. She didn't seem to want to hear that.
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At the same time, his proximity affected her somehow; made her aware of many more things than she seemed to be when he wasn't close. He wasn't looking at her, and she found she didn't like that either, and she didn't like that she didn't like it.
This was all very disconcerting.
"Why in the Universe would I draw you?" she frowned.
"I don't need you. I'm just trying to go about my business," she said almost haughtily.
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Perhaps she was right. But he remembered his mother’s words, a scant breath before he rose from where he was created, a scant breath before Nyx herself was spun into this new life - “This one will be for you. And you are for her. You will not separate from her, nor she from you. You need each other. Do not forget it.”
Perhaps it was she whom he needed after all. Determined to test this, he leaned back on his hands, and stared up into the ether.
"As you say," he commented. And then he started drawing away from everywhere that he had been, allowing light and brightness to pervade every part of the forming world, and every part of the rest of existence. He sat like a black hole on the edge of the world, his entire being turning dark with the power he withheld.
Standing from the edge, he began to walk away from her, stoically ignoring the strong pull he felt from her. "Carry on," he said over his shoulder.
And walked.
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It was enough that she had come. He had seen the restlessness of life in the world, knew that reason for it, and most of all, knew why Nyx was there in front of him, hovering like beauty itself. He could not bring himself to make her ask him to return what he had drawn away. He'd made his point; he didn't have to be cruel about it.
He let out a breath, and with it came darkness descending on the world, filling it again in the places it was needed. The release was not a moment too soon. The tension in his back and shoulders relaxed, only to be replaced with a different sort of tension.
They were back to where they started, silent, saying nothing. He knew somehow that she wanted more, but...
She didn't like him.
He winced once, just a little, then shifted positions where he sat.
"Nice work," he said, trying to meet her half-way.
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"Thank you," she mumbled back, less gracefully than she should.
She had just come into the world, and to know that her fate was inextricably, inexorably bound with another's felt unfair and binding.
His graciousness only made her more ashamed, and tentatively, she floated over, back to the edge, and sat near him, though not touching him at all.
She saw him wince, and she saw him tense up, and she frowned again.
"Are you... all right then?" she asked in a way that would have been gruff, if not for the fact that her voice and demeanor were nothing but silky.
Reply
Every so often, he snuck a glance and told himself moments afterwards that he didn't do it. Not really.
Then her voice came again, and it was rough but so very very smooth, and it hit him in spots he didn't realize existed yet within him. He suppressed another wince, and nodded. "Yes."
He wouldn't admit why he was uncomfortable. He couldn't see why it mattered, or even why she would care. Once more, he examined his nails, then stared out over the edge again. It was very good to be out and about once more. He didn't like being pent up like that. He made a mental note never to do that again. Hurt too much.
His skin was fading from black to silver to gray to pale again, rapidly. He paid it little heed.
"I'm sorry," he said.
What he was sorry for, however, he didn't elaborate on. He didn't want to speak the words. I'm sorry you're stuck with me.
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He stared over the lip of the world and resolutely did. not. look. It was not easy. For the time, he had to ignore the way she got huffy when they didn't speak. Or specifically, when he didn't speak. Letting time pass over their heads, he devised an answer. When he was sure that it didn't give too much away, he finally brought it out of darkness, into the light, and gave it to her.
"You are unhappy. It only seemed polite to say it." And there was a new word now, which he just spoke. But it seemed to fit and he didn't think Nyx would have any problem understanding it.
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This troubled him.
Not because he disliked the fact, no. Because he was afraid (another new word, afraid) that if he told her, she wouldn't like it. She didn't like him enough already, in his estimation. There was no need to push her dislike further ( ... )
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But she wasn't acting like she disliked him, now. She moved closer, did she not? She asked about his well-being, did she not?
He had to keep reminding himself that he was just about the only one around. Mother didn't count; she was too busy anyway. No, he was almost the only one around that Nyx could speak with, and he knew that any company was better than no company at all.
Except when they disliked you.
He huffed and then answered her question, perhaps a little more abruptly than he should have wanted to.
"Yes. All is well."
A sidelong glance to her tried to tell him whether or not she believed it.
"Mother is doing quite a job down there," he said, trying to pull her attention
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If all was well and he would speak to her so, then he must not like her at all! And what nerve, for him not to like her! She was perfectly pleasant, wasn't she? Was she displeasing in some way? She looked down at herself. Then, she became more agitated when she realized that she cared quite a lot if he didn't like her, which was completely unfair, since it was she who had done the not liking first. Beyond that, she wasn't even sure she didn't like him anymore. This once again put her in the unenviable position of having an affinity for him that he did not reciprocate.
Moving her body back to the place it had been before she'd drawn closer, she mumbled a reply, trying unskillfully to feign indifference.
"Yes. Mum is wonderful." Nyx bet that Erebos liked Khaos just fine.
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