Planning has never been Dyssia's strength.

Dyssia's body is the feeling of a splinter wedged under a fingernail--skin-stinging, joint-locking, thought-numbing, tail-writhing pain. She has no plan, no thoughts, nothing but a purple glint behind her eyes as she drags herself towards the Lawgiver on spasming marionette arms.

Except… That's not right, though?

The voice is small. Quiet, faint, drowning in lavender, but insistent despite it all. Not the voice behind the eyes, not the voice looking out at the world. The voice is from the space [i]behind[/i] the space behind the eyes--the one looking at how the other space seese the world. 

Not "the Lawgiver?" Why not? Why is that important? Why does that nagging little voice seem to think that--

Not the Lawgiver. [i]Dekal.[/i] Not the Knight, not the role, not the description, not the job, not the red-turned-white of the robes. Dekal, the person behind it, the person looking at her as if enough lightning will make things… stop? Go away? Change? 

"Come with me!"

Her voice is raspy and wet, she realizes--hardly worthy of the exclamation point.

"Come away from this place!"

Scales scrape on wood as she approaches, soaking lightning and spasms with each inch.

"I used to want to [i]be[/i] you!"

And she's hauling herself up and wrapping her arms around Dekal, and she's squeezing with all her might, not to hurt, but as if by touching her, she could push all the thoughts in her heart through the skin and into Dekal.

"I used to want to be you, and it hurts me to see you like this," she cries, and the floodgates open.

It's a jumbled mess, is what it is. All feelings, no order, no plan. 

Come with me, I'm begging you. I've read all about you from the stories, and--you sit here, and hide away, alone in this tent, doing work that doesn't help for a goddess who doesn't care, and it's hurting you, and you--

Come with me! Come, meet my friends! You're alone, and you're hurting, and I can [i]help you[/i] if you'll just [i]come with me![/i] You can't hide away from the world, from people, think of people as numbers, as good done in a ledger, and stay--we need people to help us [i]stay people![/i]

Come with me! Touch all the good things in life! Not as a hedonist, not as a glutton, not as the chemmed-out bliss-eaters, but to remind you of what it is to be alive! Come with me!

Come with me--I never could have gotten this far on my own, and neither can you. Alone, you've ruled a Service that spans the stars, organizes kingdoms, and makes you more miserable the more you spend time here!

Loosen your fingers, loosen your grasp, walk away with me! See the stars without a haze of smoke! Come with me! Make more stories! Put up tacky signs that make you laugh, tell jokes with your friends--do you remember what jokes are? I'll help!

Come with me, away from this place, away from this Service! Come, love the world, love me if you want, but please, Dekal, I'm begging you, for the good of the galaxy and for the good of yourself, please, I'm begging you, find it in yourself to love [i]you![/i] 

Planning has never been Dyssia's strength. You [i]might,[/i] if you were the sort to make silly wordplay, insist that not planning has, in fact, been Dyssia's strength all along, but that's not right either. It's in finding and loving and accepting and emulating--in bringing people into her heart, and finding room for more in it.

You could have a place in it, Dekal. You could learn. You could find something better.

Come with me. Please, come with me.


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[Whatever roll this is, this is a 5,4, 9+modifier]
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