“Little godling,” the Ancient One croons from the doorway.

The boy— the… the thing looks up from where he sits, hunched over on the ground. His breathing is ragged and fast, pure white eyes staring feverishly into the similar eyes of the Ancient One. His clawed hands are covered in black ooze. More spills onto the wood floor.

Blood. His own.

The Ancient One tuts, shaking his head. His body is made of shifting shadow and endless void and bright stars and swirling nebulae – yet the gesture still looks so simple, so soft. His voice sounds like a thousand voices, but none too loud. “Did you do that to yourself?”

The creature on the ground is made of similar shadows and stars, but they are frantic and erratic, a storm in a wine-dark sea – whereas the Ancient One is calm and still like a lake reflecting the night sky.

The small creature nods its head. The action looks violent. Necks cannot typically move in the way his moves.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the Ancient One coos. It enters the room now, gliding, weightless. Shadow and stars pour into through the door, shifting and moving, yet still maintaining its vaguely humanoid shape. It raises its hand— hand, claw, galaxy, thing – and reaches towards the tumultuous chaos that is the other creature’s body. “I am here, little godling. I am here.”

“W-Who—” The little creature is afraid like an animal. It stares like a deer in headlights, like a mouse caught in a trap. Its legs— or, its arms… Its limbs, all of them in their shifting, countless number shuffle frenziedly against the floor, claws scraping against the wood. He pushes himself backwards and backwards, away from the Ancient One’s lake-calm hand, until he thuds against the wall. The impact sends framed pictures clattering to the black-blood-covered ground.

“W-Who are you?” The creature hisses, the words finally able to leave his mouth, passing by sharp teeth that are much too long. “What— What is happening to me—”

“Shhh, shhh.” The Ancient One’s white eyes stare at him like binary stars. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“Who are you?!” The creature spits the question this time, impatient. It comes out like a growl, snarling and wild. He feels wild – some sort of untamed thing. Some kind of monstrous beast.

“I am just like you, little godling,” is all the Ancient One says as its answer. It takes a gliding step forward, slow and steady. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘godling’?”

“Because that is what you are.” Another step.

“Stop! Don’t come any closer!” The creature’s limbs have frantically climbed up the wall now like some kind of giant insect. Black ooze drips down the wall. “Stay— Stay back—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, child,” says the Ancient One. “I am not like the others. I am just like you.”

The creature’s breaths are still ragged and quick, heaving in the swirling galaxies of his chest. “I— I still don’t understand. What are you talking about? What is happening—”

“There is not much else I can say in words, little one.” There is a hint of a smile in the Ancient One’s many voices. “Words are such a human invention. A useful one, sure, but it is still not second nature for ones like us to use it.”

Ones like us. The creature does not know what any of this means. This other creature is saying it is just like him, but he doesn’t even know what he is.

“What are you feeling right now?” the Ancient One speaks in the creature’s silence.

The creature has shoved himself into the corner where two walls meet the ceiling. It stares down at the Ancient One with its white star eyes.

“So much,” it answers, voice strained and shaking. Its body shifts and swirls, dark blood still dripping from it like black tears. It looks like pieces of itself are falling from its shadow-void body. “I feel— I feel so much. And then I— I turned into— into this—”

“Shhh, little godling.” The Ancient One moves closer and reaches out its arm, claw, limb. It keeps reaching, much too long, far too many joints bending in unnatural spots. It reaches up, up, up to the corner of the ceiling, towards the little-small-huge-giant monster-creature.

The creature cannot hide. It cannot run. It flinches at the claws fast approaching him.

But the touch that comes is gentle.

The Ancient One runs its hand down the creature’s cheek, gentle and kind. So kind. Loving, familial.

And the creature, it feels— it feels so much, feels every little atom that brushes against him, feels every drop of care and love and safety that crafted such a kind touch.

“That’s it,” the Ancient One croons. “See? I’m not going to hurt you. I understand. I feel it, too.”

“No one feels this,” the creature says, voice shaking. The touch is gentle and kind and safe but he is still wary. “No one feels in the ways that I feel.”

“I do. Ones like us do,” says the Ancient One. “I cannot prove it to you now, but I can in time.”

The creature does not know what to say. All it knows is that ever since that gentle touch, the erratic chaos of his shifting body has begun to calm down, just a bit.

“Come home with me, little godling.” The Ancient One smiles, jagged and sharp – wild, some kind of monstrous beast – yet it is still so impossibly kind. “There, I can prove it to you. There, you’ll be safe.”

The creature hesitates. “Home… Where is home?”

“Not here,” the Ancient One replies with a laugh. “Home was never here, was it?”

More blood drips onto the floor, sobbing pieces of itself. It nods, its body trembling under the kind touch on its face.

Perhaps… Perhaps this other creature, this other thing really does understand.

“Okay,” the godling says. “Take me home. Please.”

He stands before me in his red cloak brocaded in gold. I bow before him like there is miles between his head and mine, mine below and his above - so so far above. He lifts my chin to look into his eyes and it is like staring at gold, staring into suns.

“You are on the right path,” he says, my unworthy head in his holy hand, “I stand before you a king of kings. I can do unto you what gods can only dream of doing unto man.”

My lips tremble. Tears roll from my eyes and land in his palm. Standing before him feels like standing before a great wonder of the world - a mountain touching the clouds, a cascading waterfall, a towering ancient pyramid, a monument looming over a shrine to a god. A living shrine, I bow before him and worship him. Before him I feel like an ant. Either I have become smaller or the world has become bigger, increasing its gravity upon me and pulling my knees to the floor. I cannot stand up. The force of his power is just too great.

Devotion. I have never felt like this towards anyone before. Devoted beyond logic, beyond reason. I can physically feel the power he holds over my mind - the pull dragging me to my knees. I can feel myself twisted around his little finger. But these feelings are not unwelcome. They are comforting. They give me purpose. Devotion. Devotion.

“Glory be to you,” I say. “Glory be. May the gods recognize you for who you are. May the world fall to their knees before you as I do. May you live forever.”

“Come, child,” he says, smiling. He takes his hand away from my face, and it feels like the skin it once touched has been purified. “We have much work to do.”