Emberwood Silken

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I am divine, He said, lips curving into the beginnings of a smile.

Soft things. Weak things. So concerned with preserving that spark in her breast, that warmth between her thighs; so unaware of how temporary it truly was. It was the gilded spirit of her that Ptolemy concerned himself with now. She would be a guiding light to the Druids; she would be their sign that the Unnamed God still turned its faceless favor upon them.

You won't come to harm, Ptolemy told her next, studying her cowering figure not for want of her but for want of her discomfort. Let her shiver and cry in fear; let her harden her heart beneath it. In this way, he meant to prepare her to survive the harsh reality of life on the islands. She would need to be stronger.