Ouroboros Spine under divine law of the opus magnum

He found a verbal foothold, it seemed. As though the thoughts of her mind were fast turning spools of thread suddenly run out of reel, he saw that look of uncertainty that was forcing her to reconsider. She did not act out in violence as she had displayed, because to do so would have surely undone every ounce in her statement of never leaving. It was a road that upon going down there was no turning back and once again the history of Ouroboros living up to its name. A cyclical history, pockmarked by perpetual change. And Mordecai, caught in the fray and so removed from the politics of it all found himself trying to bend it to his will and temper it evenly. He'd have none of the nonsense that had persisted, a point he hoped to wordlessly make clear in time. And it would start with her.

Her frustrated exhale punctuated her statement timely, and he continued his verbal climb away from their repetitive history. Mordecai gained his confidence bit by bit, but steadily. “There was never a we,” he chided gently. “There will not be a we to this. I believe you and I made that clear a long time ago.” He had made his thoughts in regards to her leadership ability clear ages ago, just as she had proven to not see much at all from his perspective. The accusation of being on the wrong side still stuck with him even after Ptarmigan had ceased to breathe. They did not view each other as equals and as far as he was concerned, she had slid beneath that so-called queenly status that she had adorned herself with. The Spine did not need an egotistic leader.