⟫»—> For the duration in which he had been so acquainted with the gorgon, he’d hardly had a glimpse into how exactly she procured the subjects for her twisted version of sculpture. Needless to say, the questions were answering themselves, presented before him in some sort of odd display. Her movements were poised and defined; an embodiment of the pride and satisfaction she took in her work. Visionaries wandered briefly towards the blubbering goblin though there was no mercy in the heart of the Destroyer.
Securing their own time tonight when she had finished with whatever possible tortures she had in store for the goblin bid the dovah to nod his head ⎛ no one received such respect from him before ⎠with the slightest of bows forward from his shoulders. Rolling his shoulders the World Eater returned to his upright posture, staring at the goblin. The salt of his tears sank into the nearly unnoticable scent of the stone, and head tilted a moment. Pity that the briefest signs of magic in this concrete forest had fallen victim to the potent magia.
On his heels he turned away silently, without further comment nor word. Long strides carried him away towards the gallery’s high double doors. Breaching their seal, he allowed one last peak over his shoulder before his dark form was hidden behind the veil.
Poor fool. If he hadn’t stank so bad, perhaps I would have felt bad…
… No. Not he would not.
The only thing saving him from a certain, petrifying death was a pair of black lenses no more than a tenth of an inch thick. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The last time he had written to Pig was no more than two weeks ago. He had mention in her letter that he had promised to save up enough money to fly back and visit her again. The fact that he would ultimately die here made his heart sink, appropriately like stone.
“I-I don’t want to be pretty,” he blubbered on. “I’m not supposed to be.” His eyes looked back to where her lover once was. He didn’t see him leave, though he didn’t care. He was much more worried about the gorgon in front of himself than the beast that had left. Toad continued to sniffle. He shook his body back and forth, rocking the chair over. He fell sideways, making a loud, hard, clank against the marble floor. He gasped.
“I have family!” He shouted. “I have a sister! I have a life! You can’t j-just take that away from someone for the sake of art!” He bared his teeth at her, though it was of no use; He looked less intimidating in the light, and his tears didn’t help him much either. He was just a goblin. A cobylnau. In comparison to a gorgon, he was nothing more than a pale, earthen worm.
Medusa clucked her tongue and cupped her hands on the sides of his face. “Hush, don’t cry,” she cooed, brushing the tears away from his cheeks with her thumbs. “It will only hurt a little, I promise.” She ruffled his hair and turned to go through the supplies she’d brought in, choosing to bring the bucket forward first with a few sponges and washcloths. She needed him to look well-polished after all. Dragging the bucket back, she watched him rock over, smacking against the marble floor.
“Be careful, now. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Strong arms gripped the chair and pulled him back upright. The goblin’s outcry only earned him the raising of her brow. “Listen–look–are you watching? Do you see this man? His name is Ramsay. He’s forty-two, has two daughters. His oldest, Beatrice, is a star basketball player. His other, twenty-year-old Lacie, is really great at math and is pursuing engineering at Loyola.” She went to another statue, and listed off family members, hobbies, professions, even allergies. “The point is, I don’t care, Cabbage Patch. If your family wants to buy you back from me, they are more than welcome to. I’ll even give them a discount."
She dragged her chair closer and closed the distance between them, then sat with a sponge in her hand. Plunging it into the soapy water, she soaked it nicely before hovering it on top of Toad’s head, wringing out the lukewarm water on his shock of red hair.
