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"You are envied by Gagazet itself, Yuna," Seymour says in his sticky utterance. His voice clings like cobwebs to everyone he meets. "For the holy mountain has centuries of feet upon its face – you have been tread upon by no one." He walks his claws down the inside of her arm, a five-legged spider with razor-sharp edges. "Except me."
His claws clack when they hit together, a scurrying sort of noise, like thousands of insects on a wooden floor. His claws crawl just the same: up and down they nip, taste and explore her skin.
He marks her body in paper thin trails of blood – for this night he is no Maester, but a cartographer. She is the virgin territory he has set out to explore.
On the eve of Seymour and Yuna's wedding - Seymour's claws will be the only thing to have tread upon Yuna's virgin snow. He will line her caves with his plans to become Sin, and save Spira's suffering. There will be no Sending, tonight.
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Bookmark Notes:
CREEPY. Visceral. Perfect characterizations, but so hard to read.