Work Text:
In their domain, a being sits alone. They have gone by many names over time, names they would prefer were left in the past; but the name they have chosen to go by now is Mimesis. But names do not matter here, for for now, they simply sit and ponder. They have plenty to think about after all.
Truly, such frivolous things as love are beneath them. They're practically a God after all, the leading role in their own personal project.
But even a God wants to be loved when they're so alone.
Yet who could love a creature who loves so strangely? There is no one who seems to love as they do, at least none who'd love them back.
That's not to say they're loveless, nor that they'd never had a brief fling or two. A hook up of sorts so to say. But deep down they'd always known that their affections would never truly be returned in the way they wanted, no matter how much they clawed their way towards even a single scrap of perceived reciprocation. They could offer their own heart on a silver platter if they wanted; perhaps they would do so, quite literally, if they were asked to. Yet even then, his would still be just out of reach.
And so they're left with only one thing apparent. No matter what they do, they will always be left painfully alone.
But they will not cry, no; for a God doesn't cry, and a good lead doesn't either. They cannot cry, not when they have a reputation to hold.
They can't cry.
They can't.
They can't stop themself from crying for the first time in ages.
For no matter how much they may act unbothered by it all, at the end of the day, they are terribly alone.
And so, they must wonder, what's the point? What's the point of an existence where their power means nothing when they can't truly use it? Trapped where they are, left to stagnate, with no one who cares to listen to them, to stay with them.
To help them.
No matter how much they try to deny ever needing help, to claim Gods need no help, they're painfully aware that on the inside, they're falling fast, deeper and deeper into a dark pit full of their own worst emotions. And they despise it. Despise their own emotions, their own disgusting weakness. Despise the fact they just want someone to be there despite how fucked up they are, to hear someone say that someday, they'll be okay again.
But okay will never come and they know it.
No matter how much they hope to get better, to stop feeling and keep playing the role they've chosen, even just to be loved, these things will never happen and they know it. They're too far gone, too irreparably wrong to fix, too much work to love. And no amount of performance, as skilled as they are, will truly make them feel okay, or alive, or like it's all worth it.
And so, they are left to face the reality of their situation.
Alone.
Isolated.
Wrong.
Unwanted.
Unloved.
Thoughts and feelings that they rarely acknowledge until it all comes spilling out, boiling over like water, and burning them just as much on the inside. It hurts, and on some level, they know that it always hurts. They've simply gotten better at acting like it doesn't, to the point where even they almost believe it. A good actor needs to believe in the role after all. A good distraction or two usually aids in not having to think about the bad things as well.
But for now, distractions will not help, and no amount of acting will make them believe that they're okay.
In their domain, a being sits alone. They have gone by many names over time, names they would prefer were left in the past; but the name they have chosen to go by now is Mimesis. But names do not matter here, for for now, they simply sit and weep. They have plenty to try not to think about after all.