Serotonia.

Alone figure trekked through the Gully, his white fur a stark contrast against the springtime green of fresh growth. He made notes of the herbs as he passed them, his face erupting into differing expressions of mirth and indifference as he mentally cataloged poisons, edible plants, the occasional recreational drug he happened across.

Until he came to a complete stop, frozen in time, beautifully upset as he stared down at wormwood. Although the God was now certain his daughter was here within these lands, somewhere hiding from him surely – he had yet to lay waste to all in an effort to reclaim her. The meeting of that deliciously intoxicating woman had borne a hole within him, and it needed to be filled. How dare she speak as though knew Absinth. That she could possibly understand the fires that had birthed his daughter – no. That had forged her into what she was. Setekh himself had ensured her suffering, so that she would grow strong, beautiful, intelligent, and forever his. All she had needed to do was wait for him, and she had not. Her first failed test. The ivory prince’s fingers raised to stroke the plant, a gentle gaze winning through his distressed visage.

And then he swatted it to the ground, stamping it under his foot. If you cannot have her, no one ever shall. Setekh’s lips, those inky and tantalizing things, cracked into a fearsome grin. Volcanic orbs burning intensely, at the crushed toxin – a foreshadowing of what he would do once he found His Absi. Horrid thing she was, making him feel such pain and emptiness.

He would find her. She would seek him out. It was inevitable. That girl would warn her of his presence, and Absinth would wager her options. She would find him all on her own.  If not because she truly wished to see him, and it had all been a delightful misunderstanding… but to lessen the punishment she was to receive regardless. Did she not know that? Was she not the intelligent creature he thought her to be? If that had ever been the case, she would have already been consumed by him, left to rot in shambles. But she does not rot, she has only fought! Fought love! This little reckless dove! He felt a shudder run down his spine, ivory fangs gritting as a wave of fury clashed with the calamity that was his self-control. Everything about losing Absinth had disrupted his thinking, his usual patterns.  She had been the first of his children to disobey him, after he had treated her so well. And yet, his mind had never been clearer in his years of life, all due to his obsessive goal. Regaining his composure, Setekh stooped to lap the wormwood from the ground, taking it into his jaws and chewing it up – swallowing it with a pleasurable groan. Tick tock, Artemisia absinthium. Do unto me what I will surely do unto you.

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness