[She was. The Drifter would not pretend they ever fully understood the jackal’s motives and means, but that specter of death was their only real guide aside from the Guardian’s familiar pink bulk. She did not call for the sacrifice of children. She did not preach about no costs being too great. She did not murder hatchlings indiscriminately.]
[She sought to rinse the world clean of its blight. She simply needed a tool to make it happen.]
[The Drifter looks at their hand: gloved, creased, topped with clawlike nails. Worn fabric knobbed at the points where their callouses have become scar tissue.]
[Picture it: a foam-crusted sea of water, pure and absolute and far reaching, and a sky no longer baked red with the corpses of the dead and the dying.]
[They cannot truly know. They cannot know if it was a premonition, a promise, a gilded lie - or some delusion cooked into a dying brain, desperate to manufacture some meaning where none existed.]
no subject
[She sought to rinse the world clean of its blight. She simply needed a tool to make it happen.]
[The Drifter looks at their hand: gloved, creased, topped with clawlike nails. Worn fabric knobbed at the points where their callouses have become scar tissue.]
[Picture it: a foam-crusted sea of water, pure and absolute and far reaching, and a sky no longer baked red with the corpses of the dead and the dying.]
[They cannot truly know. They cannot know if it was a premonition, a promise, a gilded lie - or some delusion cooked into a dying brain, desperate to manufacture some meaning where none existed.]
[They simply have to have faith.]
i hope so