It's a common name. The single most common name on Earth. Every culture in the world has a version of the name John. Jaune. Jan. Ivan. Giovan. Jean. Jun. They say with complete and total certainty that they, the demon who comes when it's name is called, are named John as well.
But the eyes that stare back at them. Golden. Shining like the stars of DETERMINATION. So bright that they feel as if they might go blind.
It isn't a coincidence. This is her, then. The Necromancer's secret.
She's the most beautiful creature Chara has ever beheld. Looking at her makes them want to hurl in disgust. Her face is perfect, despite the way she's been left to gather rot and mold (there is no rot, there is no mold, but there should be), her hair is picturesque. She looks like a doll. They wish they didn't understand what it is to be loved like that.
They recall a conversation had with Paul Atreides down at the beach.
"If God exists, it's possible that we're all just dolls to Him."
Their mouth twists into a smile like a toy changing it's function, pleasant and amused and so full of hate and rage that could only belong to one who can't forget. And they respond.]
I LOVE humanity more than anything else in the wide expanses of existence.
[She doesn't need to understand to know.]
Did John hurt you? He does that a lot to the things he loves. Everyone does.
no subject
It's a common name. The single most common name on Earth. Every culture in the world has a version of the name John. Jaune. Jan. Ivan. Giovan. Jean. Jun. They say with complete and total certainty that they, the demon who comes when it's name is called, are named John as well.
But the eyes that stare back at them. Golden. Shining like the stars of DETERMINATION. So bright that they feel as if they might go blind.
It isn't a coincidence. This is her, then. The Necromancer's secret.
She's the most beautiful creature Chara has ever beheld. Looking at her makes them want to hurl in disgust. Her face is perfect, despite the way she's been left to gather rot and mold (there is no rot, there is no mold, but there should be), her hair is picturesque. She looks like a doll. They wish they didn't understand what it is to be loved like that.
They recall a conversation had with Paul Atreides down at the beach.
"If God exists, it's possible that we're all just dolls to Him."
Their mouth twists into a smile like a toy changing it's function, pleasant and amused and so full of hate and rage that could only belong to one who can't forget. And they respond.]
I LOVE humanity more than anything else in the wide expanses of existence.
[She doesn't need to understand to know.]
Did John hurt you? He does that a lot to the things he loves. Everyone does.