tralalalala.
A truly stupid creature might have have claimed to choose him rather than being chosen; a younger Eris, prior to leaving Eterne, might have done just that. She had seen things there—awful and fantastical visions brought on by the hallucinogenic mixtures they used in their rituals, and maybe once she believed they were visions. Maybe once they had made her special—but not anymore, and certainly not in this land, where the devils and gods and demons and angels were all centuries older than whatever power lurked in Eterne.
“I am lucky, he chose me,” the shadow-hued woman began, chartreuse eyes still locked on him, studying him. She did not yet see it in him, though the tingle of suspicion burned and twisted up her spine. “Whether I lived or died,” she finished, knowing this to be true—there was nothing suicidal in the sable-furred canine, nothing that desired to dance with death and end it all, but to have died at his hand was just as much an honor as being chosen by him.
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