“Four sons? All in a row? Damn, that Nhadro matriarch really is something special.” “All of ‘em grew up to be something formidable too, just like their mother… 'cept one, I heard the third was something of an early birth. Weak n’ feeble, the whole nine yards.” “Wonder whatever happened to 'im…”
You know, I’ll never understand people sometimes.You’d think that they’d learn not to touch the metaphorical stove after they’ve been burned time and time again, yet here I am, being touched. Not like that, of course… Well, not yet.I’m just voicing my opinions here, and people are truly dumb, or brave, or maybe a mix of the two. Regardless, it’s idiotic. They touch me like I’m some god given form, as if I’m some Twelve-sent answer to all their problems, but I’m not, that I can assure you of. Hells, I shouldn’t even be walking right now, but I suppose whatever watches us from above didn’t get enough of a kick from my actions, and made sure I can keep on entertaining.
Should I be complaining about that? Eh, not really; it’s a mercy I’ll definitely take any day, but it’s jarring when people can’t seem to get it through my words, or my touch that I’m not permanent, that when they wake up tomorrow, it’s going to be even colder than my body was the night before. Maybe they like that, though, feeling cheap and disposable, laying their bodies before me, and telling me their dreams and passions. It’s kind of depressing to listen to, admittedly, especially when I can’t bring myself to care, but it goes without saying that the dreamers offer the best times - they have a habit of creating quite the scene for me. But it feels wrong in a way. I mean, I’m at least a little like them, right? I used to dream big, and fill those cold starless nights in Ishgard with promises of poetic loves. Hah… Maybe I act the way I do because I want them to learn what I did about those notions?
…Man, that being above us must be having the time of their life.
Perhaps I should really stop thinking about this so deeply, and about them for that matter. For someone who claims not to care, I’d wager that I’m thinking about this a whole lot more than they are. It’s just sex, something to tide us over for the night, but gods do I wish they’d stop looking at me as if I’m anything but that. I want to be selfish, but when I see that godsdamned look in their eyes, I feel warm again, the cold receding for just a moment.
It makes me want to throw up, but at least Z'vasih was nice to look at.
