["if you say that you do not need me, then that renders my life meaningless" - for lara]
Characters from the Wyndham universe. And the Golden Prince universe. I'm actually not sure where the boundaries lie with these things.
As a Wyndham, Rhodomel would never have had cause to beg: Kandor had made it so that a child of Wyndham would never lack anything he or she desired, and made good on every promise he gave. If there was sadness in the house of Wyndham, it would never be from something ungiven.
But as the Magician Monkshood’s servant, it had become a common occurrence for his tongue not to recoil at the mere mention of the word. That he is on his knees in front of his master now serves only as evidence for this fact.
“Please, master, I do not wish- -“
“You do not wish? And what mind have I to consider your wishes, Rhodomel?”
Monkshood has never been generous, save for the night when he took Rhodomel as his own, and Rhodomel knows not to expect from his master anything that would benefit him, but this single thing- -
“Master, if you say that you do not need me-” and here Rhodomel pauses, daring to look up and meet his Master’s gaze head on, desperate as he was to be understood, to be heard.
“Then that renders my life meaningless.”
And so there would be no reason to delay its end.
Monkshood hears his servant’s unsaid words, and if there was ever anything that the Magician hated, it was a fruitless endeavor.
With a derisive huff the Magician waves his hand, bidding Rhodomel to stand.
“I couldn’t very well renegade on our bargain, now could I? What do you take me for!”
And then he casts his narrowed gaze onto his servant, and says,
“You are mine, regardless of your use to me.”
As a Wyndham, Rhodomel would never have had cause to beg: Kandor had made it so that a child of Wyndham would never lack anything he or she desired, and made good on every promise he gave. If there was sadness in the house of Wyndham, it would never be from something ungiven.
But as the Magician Monkshood’s servant, it had become a common occurrence for his tongue not to recoil at the mere mention of the word. That he is on his knees in front of his master now serves only as evidence for this fact.
“Please, master, I do not wish- -“
“You do not wish? And what mind have I to consider your wishes, Rhodomel?”
Monkshood has never been generous, save for the night when he took Rhodomel as his own, and Rhodomel knows not to expect from his master anything that would benefit him, but this single thing- -
“Master, if you say that you do not need me-” and here Rhodomel pauses, daring to look up and meet his Master’s gaze head on, desperate as he was to be understood, to be heard.
“Then that renders my life meaningless.”
And so there would be no reason to delay its end.
Monkshood hears his servant’s unsaid words, and if there was ever anything that the Magician hated, it was a fruitless endeavor.
With a derisive huff the Magician waves his hand, bidding Rhodomel to stand.
“I couldn’t very well renegade on our bargain, now could I? What do you take me for!”
And then he casts his narrowed gaze onto his servant, and says,
“You are mine, regardless of your use to me.”