Something quite murderous is happening in the gist of being the "omniscient creature" going after its own tireless pleasure and wanting that would prove, more than once, that it was not of lush, and it was not of the highest power after all-to realize that this being will be digging more burial pits for its losses (and soon for its own body). But that is the thing: it yearns for a body outside of this world, one that will take the creature with it for a permanent escapism; to be a permanent loss contrary to the bitterness of continual losing; an outside chance for one pure and final absolution (maybe, the creature hopes); a body that will know and cradle and pledge to each other's ownership, that there'd be a silent glory in the closeness, that there'd be a feast in the gaps, that they'd live in the comforts of sharing the upper-hand, that there'd be a victory in wanting to be perceived as the changeless thing, which also differs from anything and everything else.
An excerpt from Since, 2023 by satricain