Jan 17, 2006 00:05
He wanted his wife.
He wanted his wife.
The satin sheets under his back still smelled like her. The entire grand palace he had not bothered to deconstruct on his return still felt like her. But she was not here.
No. She was with the musician. The godling she had taken to India (the same place where she had once had a very powerful, very wealthy mortal lover) was doting on his wife. And Erebos. Could. Do. Nothing.
Nothing at all.
He stared at the intricately painted ceiling overhead. It depicted the night sky with all its stars and silver light. He had even made it seem to glow. Nyx liked little touches like that.
Time crept slowly. He had long ago withdrawn his awareness from where Nyx was. What she was doing. He did not want to see it. He did not want to know. If she slept with Philammon. Then he could say nothing. He deserved that. But it would not be easy to accept.
Erebos impotently hurled a pillow across the room without getting up from where he sprawled on the bed. This had seemed like a good idea. At the time. Now he was not so certain.
He was not certain about anything.
erebos,
nyx