You wonder if you could even make it to them, as immortal now as you may be. Later, you stare at the ocean from the docks and wonder if they’d like a visit. You’re busy saying holy words you made yourself, singing soft hymns under your breath, and still you are a little surprised at the divinity you now hold in your chest.Īn Old God may still reside in the depth, your crown whispers to you as you wield a curse. You can only ever make out a few words and phrases about growing power or great deeds for great ones, and you always elect to ignore them. The crown mutters quiet things, indecipherable things, as you sit there with your dying follower (or followers). They look so happy, and it’s only fair, for their deaths to not be lonely like yours was, as filled as the room had been for your unwilling sacrifice.

You place their heads in your lap and you sit there, content. You hold your followers as they die, if you can. There are flowers everywhere, but the camellia is always the most important bit to them. It seems to be your followers had to be the ones to make it a thing. You are only pleasantly surprised when it does not wilt, and it is expected when, after, your crown stays silent on the matter when you ask it on a crusade. When a follower gives you a necklace made with camellia flower, stem, leaf, and wild grass, you smile and put it on. And you don’t say to no to anyone asking for them. Your crown grins with delight, spouting nonsense in your ear, compelling you to make it a thing. Your followers are so obsessed with camellias. You give your first follower a skull necklace and your second one a feather necklace. When you speak to them you are tempted to say, Of course, I can bring you more flowers, my son. But as you look at your followers you are tempted to think of them as children, in their soft helplessness and their steadfast determination. You’ve never been a child and you’ve never had a child of your own blood, yourself. How your caretaker would slit your neck for thinking up such blasphemy yourself. Insinuation meaning that you are one of them. It says, the day after you fell the worm, chaos, Leshy, when you pick up a necromantic dagger, Only the Gods of Death may cut souls free. The crown a home on your head, comfortable as it tells you things, legends of Old Gods and jealous lovers, great fanatics and restless spirits of fallen crusaders. The blade and curse find a home in your hands. You have always known yourself to be a survivor. You have always known yourself to be the sacrificial lamb. As if the crown on your head is not whispering things to you, about the color of the camellias you gifted and the meaning behind the veil. You place two camellias into the scrapped and dirtied hands of your first follower, and you whisper to him, voice scratchy from beheading and unused from years of survival, worship me, as if, you want to laugh, the words are not imbued with enough audacity to fell a tree.Īnd in that moment, as you watch him fall to his knees in front of your shrine in order to worship, you want to try and prepare him for your death, too. You did not feel prepared, but that’s not their fault, now, is it? Your caretaker would not have worried that you heard their screaming taunts, or shrieking curses, or agonized prayers as they went out, because they prepared you for it. That’s all your caretaker thought mattered, before they decided to sacrifice themself for you. You did not have a childhood, but you did have a life. Being prepared to hide in corpses and eat corpses is not a childhood. And being taught to shoot arrows and wield weapons at four is not a childhood. Stats: Published: Words: 3,475 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 3 Kudos: 55 Bookmarks: 11 Hits: 350

I wanted to do more w/ this but I forgot what I was thinking.Narinder is a little shit and I love him as I would my own child.Those cryptic item quote thingies are used a lot because I love them dearly.They/Them Pronouns for The Lamb (Cult of the Lamb).A lot of other people that are not entirely important.The Lamb & The One Who Waits | Narinder.The Lamb & The Red Crown (Cult of the Lamb).

Cult of the lamb camellia