Those words would be naive from anyone else. The world is meant to be commanded, or it would not manifest rulers and crowns, or the Throne for which they all struggle. There was a First, there will be a Last, and all the while the world will be commanded.
It's madness and impossibility from an angel, the instrument of a Monarch's command. A knife might as well speak to say the world was not made to be cut.
He is a Prince. He manifests his domain, in the creak of his hands gripping the railing behind him and the bewildered, heady weight of what he says, pulled up from a new-tapped well of the yet to be:
"I dreamt of you."
It's the kind of thing he would have hesitated to say, once. It's the kind of thing he would have imagined he'd have time to say, if he chose to, but he knows better these days. Life is one willing knife from an end, and this angel of will is talking only about his duty. He can't let it stand. There's too much he needs to know, for reasons still obscure to him.
no subject
It's madness and impossibility from an angel, the instrument of a Monarch's command. A knife might as well speak to say the world was not made to be cut.
He is a Prince. He manifests his domain, in the creak of his hands gripping the railing behind him and the bewildered, heady weight of what he says, pulled up from a new-tapped well of the yet to be:
"I dreamt of you."
It's the kind of thing he would have hesitated to say, once. It's the kind of thing he would have imagined he'd have time to say, if he chose to, but he knows better these days. Life is one willing knife from an end, and this angel of will is talking only about his duty. He can't let it stand. There's too much he needs to know, for reasons still obscure to him.
"Why was that?"