( again the veiled threat. godric says nothing to acknowledge it, merely offers out his hand. he assumes the man wishes to trigger the empathy bond, an endeavor to discern the truth of what he says. he has nothing to hide, and so does not shy away.
nor does he try to temper it. two thousand years of emotion will doubtless be difficult to bear, let the human take what he will of it. in this, they will learn each other's measure.
when trevor takes it, there first comes that sense of age, creeping in like a low fog. yet, it does not come as a blow but as a gentle encompassment. he exists as a place outside the human comprehension of time. peaceable. quiet.
there is serenity in his touch. an absolute stillness. old lakes and ancient standing stone. there is nothing human in him, but there is also very little vampire. he simply is, a force of nature, an eldritch creature who has chosen to tarry here a while, and bow his head to human whims. there is love, and yearning, and regret. the sorrow he spoke of is pervasive and bone deep, entrenched in the marrow of the mind. something wild and fey and utterly without master. there is a loneliness wended through the rest like silver thread stitched into a tapestry of the glittering dawn. there is hunger, too, a pervasive pressure at the edge of awareness. omnipresent, yet ignored. diminished in size and scope for the inattention it has received.
no subject
nor does he try to temper it. two thousand years of emotion will doubtless be difficult to bear, let the human take what he will of it. in this, they will learn each other's measure.
when trevor takes it, there first comes that sense of age, creeping in like a low fog. yet, it does not come as a blow but as a gentle encompassment. he exists as a place outside the human comprehension of time. peaceable. quiet.
there is serenity in his touch. an absolute stillness. old lakes and ancient standing stone. there is nothing human in him, but there is also very little vampire. he simply is, a force of nature, an eldritch creature who has chosen to tarry here a while, and bow his head to human whims. there is love, and yearning, and regret. the sorrow he spoke of is pervasive and bone deep, entrenched in the marrow of the mind. something wild and fey and utterly without master. there is a loneliness wended through the rest like silver thread stitched into a tapestry of the glittering dawn. there is hunger, too, a pervasive pressure at the edge of awareness. omnipresent, yet ignored. diminished in size and scope for the inattention it has received.
but of rage, but of savagery, all is quiescent. )