[ Something is spinning to life in Jonas's head. Some manner of insecurity and injury that Set had felt in the fabric of his body, that he remembers because he was there within Jonas's tattered existence and he thinks, in some part, he knows what it is to be human a little better than he did before. They are unlike the gods, born with the freedom to become anything they desire, born with the ability to make decisions both good and bad, and to live with them. His siblings were able to look upon their humans as vibrant things, each unique from the next; what was wrong with Set that he could not see them for more than a teeming mass, cattle for the slaughter?
Why was he born so wrong?
Even now, his innate wrongness affects Jonas. It drives something inside of him, swollen and ragged, and Set tugs at his hands - held in those rough, young, human hands like he is the thing that is breakable, that he needs to be held together. That is not the way of the world, and he wishes Jonas would understand that. Even if he wants to believe in what this young man says to him in return. ]
You're asking me to unmake myself.
[ He says it, so quietly.
To admit fallibility, to admit he is more like a human than the grand divine nature of his existence, is akin to shedding a heavy mantle, a collar and beautiful chain that binds the nature of a god to a particular orderliness. He imagines what it would be, if Ra herself were to step out before the humans and tell them she had made a mistake -- the agony it would cause, the chaos it would sow. The dark thing she fought in the night, driving her barque against it in surging, bloody battle, it would win.
He looks at Jonas, regretfully.
He can't make that promise. The sound of it does not even build in his throat, paralyzed by the miserable, terse adages that Jonas says to him. In Set's silence, he is both a uniquely fragile thing, eldritch and unknowable, and so very much like a human being -- one that still remains imprisoned in their own heart. He swallows before Jonas, who bares his whole soul and asks him for such a simple, such an incredible thing.
And he feels so unseen, so unknown. ] I will, try not to bring you harm.
[ We do not make mistakes, he wants to say, we make choices, and our choices are immeasurable.
Instead, he curves his shoulders and lowers his brilliant head, pressing his face to Jonas's rough, seeking hands. Apologizing wordlessly, for failing him -- for being unable to give him this one thing he asks for. ]
no subject
Why was he born so wrong?
Even now, his innate wrongness affects Jonas. It drives something inside of him, swollen and ragged, and Set tugs at his hands - held in those rough, young, human hands like he is the thing that is breakable, that he needs to be held together. That is not the way of the world, and he wishes Jonas would understand that. Even if he wants to believe in what this young man says to him in return. ]
You're asking me to unmake myself.
[ He says it, so quietly.
To admit fallibility, to admit he is more like a human than the grand divine nature of his existence, is akin to shedding a heavy mantle, a collar and beautiful chain that binds the nature of a god to a particular orderliness. He imagines what it would be, if Ra herself were to step out before the humans and tell them she had made a mistake -- the agony it would cause, the chaos it would sow. The dark thing she fought in the night, driving her barque against it in surging, bloody battle, it would win.
He looks at Jonas, regretfully.
He can't make that promise. The sound of it does not even build in his throat, paralyzed by the miserable, terse adages that Jonas says to him. In Set's silence, he is both a uniquely fragile thing, eldritch and unknowable, and so very much like a human being -- one that still remains imprisoned in their own heart. He swallows before Jonas, who bares his whole soul and asks him for such a simple, such an incredible thing.
And he feels so unseen, so unknown. ] I will, try not to bring you harm.
[ We do not make mistakes, he wants to say, we make choices, and our choices are immeasurable.
Instead, he curves his shoulders and lowers his brilliant head, pressing his face to Jonas's rough, seeking hands. Apologizing wordlessly, for failing him -- for being unable to give him this one thing he asks for. ]