D O M I N U S
VAULT OF GLASS
It was.
When the obsidian depths looked upon the sable-skinned monarch, the flow of history was upon them. As they had touched on only moments' before, time was not linear for the Primordial. And thus, when she spoke about things that Darth Metus said or did in the morrow, she was speaking as if it occurred now. For but a moment, the monarch entertained the thought of what it would be like to witness time in such a manner. His Mandalorian heritage answered with a memory: the first time he had ever donned a fully-kitted buy'ce. While seemingly just a helmet, it afforded the wearer a near perfect, 360 degree view of their surroundings.
And for a young, unseasoned warrior, that was sensory overload. The Sith imagined that time was similar to this. An overload on a paracausal level - one that he could not even begin to fathom. Ah, but such was the beauty of their relationship. To fathom the unfathomable...to see the unseeable...for them, it was simply Wednesday. Thus, the Sith only offered a slightly bemused smile at the simple confirmation offered by his partner.
From thence, she cradled his existence as he came down from the bliss. And he voiced a desire that was as lofty as an unarmored man staring down a dragon. He wanted to hold all that she was. To know the unknowable. Her words were...twinged with disapproval. This seemed to be the norm when it came to the two of them. He, for all the strength he wielded, was still mundane. And yet he loved the abyss. Attempted to understand and hold it. In return? Though there was a disapproving edge to her words...he did not miss the fondness. It was enough that he smiled before gracing her lips with his own.
And as they touched, the conflict was not lost upon him. The fact that she was a dam, standing between the mundane and a tide of power. When their lips parted, she spoke again. He was a fool - her fool - a fact which caused his teeth to flash as he smiled all the more. After all, only a fool would barge into a primordial being's abode, blade in hand, and turn her into a bride years later. "I do." he began, pausing at the thunderous beat of his own heart. "And don't you forget it - I'm fool enough to love you."
As he spoke, her gaze did not meet his own. Rather, she reached up - her hands touching his neck. Her touch radiated possession. He was hers, plain and simple. Yet they also conveyed caution. Care. As if he were a porcelain cup in the hands of a giant. One wrong move could crack him beyond repair. All the while, the gift grafted upon his finger radiated with passion. Heat. And as the sensations magnified, her words were...firm. Do not fight it. she said. A warning. A guide. Though human instinct would urge him to do the opposite, the Sith steeled himself.
"I won't fight you."
Resisting her only caused him pain. Caused her pain.
From thus, the gift expanded. Her mere existence made manifest from the ring upon his finger. Power personified slithered onto his flesh - a crown of thorns which laid claim to his sable skin. In time, the might settled and melded into his flesh, "cooling" into an obsidian marking which matched the one upon her chest. Darth Metus was reminded of the dark mark once placed upon his original body - one laid by a fallen Dark Lord of the Sith. Such markings conveyed ownership. Possession. And since inhabiting his current form, such claims had been anathema to his mindset. But in this - for her - he would not fight. He would accept. Hear the whisper which accompanied the cacophony of power. He understood that even this was a breeze compared to the typhoon before him - and his gaze snapped to her face as she spoke.
His lips parted for a moment as his pupils shuddered. Her form blurred in and out of focus as the instruction was written upon his thoughts, uttered into his ears, and grafted upon his very soul. "I..." he began, his tone raspy and barely above a whisper. And though only a moment passed from the instant the utterance fell from his mouth, an eternity flew by in his mind. Past, Present, and Future collided. His bottom lip quivered for a moment, before finality.
Every page of his history had led to this moment. His arm, anointed by her claim, raised slightly. Fingers moved - curling into the beginnings of a fist. The abyss hummed as her power sank deeper into his being, beyond what the human eye could see. She demanded what he must be lest the power destroy him. And he could see it now. See the diverging paths of tomorrow which hinged upon his own actions. See the nature of the morrow, as if it were alive today. His lips moved of their own accord, uttering the single affirmation of his existence. Re-affirmation of his challenge to all creation. Establishing just who and what could lay claim to his soul. But she grounded him, pried him from the great I am as her lips graced his own.
Her nails dug into his flesh as the Vault became him. Patience. His head moved slowly - up and down - as if to convey his understanding. She spoke to both of them. And then...a new bliss. Her lips claimed his own once more - sweetly. Kindly. Thoughtfully. The feelings she kept at bay bled through her touch; and now, he was stained evermore by it. "Patience..." he repeated, gently settling his brow against hers. "...For you, I will master it. All of it." His fist relaxed. His mind, yet alive from the experience, began to settle.
"There is...so much to be done...So much for us to do..."
For he was hers. Forever - as was his choice. Eternity was what he wanted, and it all started today.
It was.
When the obsidian depths looked upon the sable-skinned monarch, the flow of history was upon them. As they had touched on only moments' before, time was not linear for the Primordial. And thus, when she spoke about things that Darth Metus said or did in the morrow, she was speaking as if it occurred now. For but a moment, the monarch entertained the thought of what it would be like to witness time in such a manner. His Mandalorian heritage answered with a memory: the first time he had ever donned a fully-kitted buy'ce. While seemingly just a helmet, it afforded the wearer a near perfect, 360 degree view of their surroundings.
And for a young, unseasoned warrior, that was sensory overload. The Sith imagined that time was similar to this. An overload on a paracausal level - one that he could not even begin to fathom. Ah, but such was the beauty of their relationship. To fathom the unfathomable...to see the unseeable...for them, it was simply Wednesday. Thus, the Sith only offered a slightly bemused smile at the simple confirmation offered by his partner.
From thence, she cradled his existence as he came down from the bliss. And he voiced a desire that was as lofty as an unarmored man staring down a dragon. He wanted to hold all that she was. To know the unknowable. Her words were...twinged with disapproval. This seemed to be the norm when it came to the two of them. He, for all the strength he wielded, was still mundane. And yet he loved the abyss. Attempted to understand and hold it. In return? Though there was a disapproving edge to her words...he did not miss the fondness. It was enough that he smiled before gracing her lips with his own.
And as they touched, the conflict was not lost upon him. The fact that she was a dam, standing between the mundane and a tide of power. When their lips parted, she spoke again. He was a fool - her fool - a fact which caused his teeth to flash as he smiled all the more. After all, only a fool would barge into a primordial being's abode, blade in hand, and turn her into a bride years later. "I do." he began, pausing at the thunderous beat of his own heart. "And don't you forget it - I'm fool enough to love you."
As he spoke, her gaze did not meet his own. Rather, she reached up - her hands touching his neck. Her touch radiated possession. He was hers, plain and simple. Yet they also conveyed caution. Care. As if he were a porcelain cup in the hands of a giant. One wrong move could crack him beyond repair. All the while, the gift grafted upon his finger radiated with passion. Heat. And as the sensations magnified, her words were...firm. Do not fight it. she said. A warning. A guide. Though human instinct would urge him to do the opposite, the Sith steeled himself.
"I won't fight you."
Resisting her only caused him pain. Caused her pain.
From thus, the gift expanded. Her mere existence made manifest from the ring upon his finger. Power personified slithered onto his flesh - a crown of thorns which laid claim to his sable skin. In time, the might settled and melded into his flesh, "cooling" into an obsidian marking which matched the one upon her chest. Darth Metus was reminded of the dark mark once placed upon his original body - one laid by a fallen Dark Lord of the Sith. Such markings conveyed ownership. Possession. And since inhabiting his current form, such claims had been anathema to his mindset. But in this - for her - he would not fight. He would accept. Hear the whisper which accompanied the cacophony of power. He understood that even this was a breeze compared to the typhoon before him - and his gaze snapped to her face as she spoke.
His lips parted for a moment as his pupils shuddered. Her form blurred in and out of focus as the instruction was written upon his thoughts, uttered into his ears, and grafted upon his very soul. "I..." he began, his tone raspy and barely above a whisper. And though only a moment passed from the instant the utterance fell from his mouth, an eternity flew by in his mind. Past, Present, and Future collided. His bottom lip quivered for a moment, before finality.
Jiak kij.
Ni am.
M'o inex.
Ni cuyir.
I AM.
Ni am.
M'o inex.
Ni cuyir.
I AM.
Every page of his history had led to this moment. His arm, anointed by her claim, raised slightly. Fingers moved - curling into the beginnings of a fist. The abyss hummed as her power sank deeper into his being, beyond what the human eye could see. She demanded what he must be lest the power destroy him. And he could see it now. See the diverging paths of tomorrow which hinged upon his own actions. See the nature of the morrow, as if it were alive today. His lips moved of their own accord, uttering the single affirmation of his existence. Re-affirmation of his challenge to all creation. Establishing just who and what could lay claim to his soul. But she grounded him, pried him from the great I am as her lips graced his own.
Her nails dug into his flesh as the Vault became him. Patience. His head moved slowly - up and down - as if to convey his understanding. She spoke to both of them. And then...a new bliss. Her lips claimed his own once more - sweetly. Kindly. Thoughtfully. The feelings she kept at bay bled through her touch; and now, he was stained evermore by it. "Patience..." he repeated, gently settling his brow against hers. "...For you, I will master it. All of it." His fist relaxed. His mind, yet alive from the experience, began to settle.
"There is...so much to be done...So much for us to do..."
"I no longer rule alone. I cannot ever say I do not need again. For I will rule with you - and I need you, my beloved."
For he was hers. Forever - as was his choice. Eternity was what he wanted, and it all started today.
