[ The people of his land wore jewelry in various forms, with various meanings by social station or insular community; the gods wore ornate pieces, exquisite and intricate and often impossibly-crafted. Set had been a man of practical tastes. Plain golden bands, the weight of the broad collar around his throat. Things that served as emblems of his stature, but were understated and doubled as defense. To wear the delicate little ring upon his finger was a first. He would not even begin to imagine common connotations, beyond that it is something Liem saw fit to give to him.
A gift, from him. A bit like a claim, maybe. ( He does not want to misconstrue, does not want to pretend it is something more than it is. But, he thinks back to the afternoon spent burning the dead, to the weight of their suffering in his mind and mirrored on his body and the way Liem had gathered him into his arms and let him cry, shameful and vulnerable in a way divinity should never have been.
Set's generation was painfully human, in so many ways. Even now, as he tries to shed it and be stronger, wiser, better. A evil, wicked god. But a god for people, nonetheless. ) And right now, he is so — there is so much swimming within him. A clear agony, a visceral pain at the reminder of his son's broken life, the fragile clutch of the vow made together. The jars exist because Osiris did that to him. He brings Liem's hand up, to his mouth, holding the curl of his fingers in a way that keeps the ring caught against the light like a statement. ]
And you will be all right, without it? You cannot take it back now, you see.
[
He won't let him. It's too painful to think of things like love and gifts with such simple, yet intense, meaning.
Amidst the pain and wrath, he feels something that aches — hollowly, like a space that had rotted long ago being coaxed to remembrance. ]
no subject
A gift, from him. A bit like a claim, maybe. ( He does not want to misconstrue, does not want to pretend it is something more than it is. But, he thinks back to the afternoon spent burning the dead, to the weight of their suffering in his mind and mirrored on his body and the way Liem had gathered him into his arms and let him cry, shameful and vulnerable in a way divinity should never have been.
Set's generation was painfully human, in so many ways. Even now, as he tries to shed it and be stronger, wiser, better. A evil, wicked god. But a god for people, nonetheless. ) And right now, he is so — there is so much swimming within him. A clear agony, a visceral pain at the reminder of his son's broken life, the fragile clutch of the vow made together. The jars exist because Osiris did that to him. He brings Liem's hand up, to his mouth, holding the curl of his fingers in a way that keeps the ring caught against the light like a statement. ]
And you will be all right, without it? You cannot take it back now, you see.
[
He won't let him. It's too painful to think of things like love and gifts with such simple, yet intense, meaning.
Amidst the pain and wrath, he feels something that aches — hollowly, like a space that had rotted long ago being coaxed to remembrance. ]