"Our one advantage. You can lose the status, if they decide they don't want you anymore."
Because it happened to her. Only one was allowed that particular throne of corpses. No sense keeping the favor on someone who at that point was merely a bloodbag to feed the parasite.
"I brought up gods because they're involved. A god, singular."
It is a struggle. Even here and now, she could hide behind the veil of the Chosen. Let that be the answer, mine the sympathy out of it, let Daisy think the kinship is on that level. Make it something inflicted upon her. But that would be hiding from her actions, and she again and again has had to make the choice to not do so. Alfira's blood on her hands, and she had held herself up as her murderer. Confessing to every companion she had about what lurked in her thoughts, so they knew - but none of them were willing to take it seriously enough to avert it. Or they were too desperate to have a solution to throw her out, to leave.
Thorm's knowing face, grey with ennui, looking down on her. Gortash's voice slinking into her ears, eyes black as the abyss, recounting what they'd all done. Orin clad in the skin of how many innocent, with teeth and claw and blade at Fever's dream throat. Monsters, all of them. Clawing at their fellow, scenting her weakness, poised to tear and finish the job that had already been started.
She's gone paler than when they started, wrestling with the truth that exists within every drop of her blood. I know what I am.
Her voice is so soft. She can't make it louder, or she'll choke.
"...Bhaal. The Dread Lord, the god of murder, violence, and destruction. One of death and bloodlust and hatred, the one that deeds of cruelty and ruin are done in the name of, whose faithful are feared, reviled for every understandable reason, the one who would ravage the world."
Say it. Say it. Confess, and let judgement come.
"He is my father."
What that makes her, now, she doesn't know. She waits now, for Daisy to leave - to decide this is too much, to look at her with the scorn and disgust she's earned with such an admission. Something, anything. But silence hurts too much to bear.
major spoilers for the dark urge storyline.
Because it happened to her. Only one was allowed that particular throne of corpses. No sense keeping the favor on someone who at that point was merely a bloodbag to feed the parasite.
"I brought up gods because they're involved. A god, singular."
It is a struggle. Even here and now, she could hide behind the veil of the Chosen. Let that be the answer, mine the sympathy out of it, let Daisy think the kinship is on that level. Make it something inflicted upon her. But that would be hiding from her actions, and she again and again has had to make the choice to not do so. Alfira's blood on her hands, and she had held herself up as her murderer. Confessing to every companion she had about what lurked in her thoughts, so they knew - but none of them were willing to take it seriously enough to avert it. Or they were too desperate to have a solution to throw her out, to leave.
Thorm's knowing face, grey with ennui, looking down on her. Gortash's voice slinking into her ears, eyes black as the abyss, recounting what they'd all done. Orin clad in the skin of how many innocent, with teeth and claw and blade at Fever's dream throat. Monsters, all of them. Clawing at their fellow, scenting her weakness, poised to tear and finish the job that had already been started.
She's gone paler than when they started, wrestling with the truth that exists within every drop of her blood. I know what I am.
(And in answer, the so recently familiar voice, the comforting presence in her skull. Knowing is power, love. Knowing is madness.)
Her voice is so soft. She can't make it louder, or she'll choke.
"...Bhaal. The Dread Lord, the god of murder, violence, and destruction. One of death and bloodlust and hatred, the one that deeds of cruelty and ruin are done in the name of, whose faithful are feared, reviled for every understandable reason, the one who would ravage the world."
Say it. Say it. Confess, and let judgement come.
"He is my father."
What that makes her, now, she doesn't know. She waits now, for Daisy to leave - to decide this is too much, to look at her with the scorn and disgust she's earned with such an admission. Something, anything. But silence hurts too much to bear.