Work Text:
A traveller traced an ancient path that ran alongside a meandering river. His footfall was slow, but he kept a steady pace, pausing only to kneel down and sip from the clear waters every once in a while. After nightfall, he would curl up on the ground to sleep in uncomfortable, fitful bursts. His white chiton was torn and dirty, and his thin woollen himation did little to stave off the sharp, cold bite of Demeter’s grief. Still, when Helios drove his great chariot over the mountaintops every morning, he forced himself up to journey onwards.
After many long days and frozen nights, the road led the traveller to a wall. Tired, hungry and cold, he raised his hand and brushed his palms across the huge, unwrought boulders that he could tell had laid heavily upon one another for countless ages.
Once again, the traveller began to walk, but now the fingertips of one hand caressed the stones. They gently guided him around the perimeter of something enormous, ancient and grand. Finally, his fingertips met the air—an entrance. With tentative movement, he surmounted the steps that led upwards, passing through the gate and over the threshold.
By now, the world had passed into the thrall of Dark Mother Nyx. The traveller collapsed on the hard ground, too exhausted to even gather his himation around him for warmth, and allowed unconsciousness to claim him once more.
The traveller’s awareness returned to him gradually, piece by jagged piece. As he stirred, he realised that things were not as they had been when he had collapsed with exhaustion upon the dirt.
The scent of fragrant woodsmoke and cooking meats filled the air, and he could hear the soothing crackle of a hearty fire. His body was warm, wrapped in a thick woollen blanket. Judging from the scratching sensation he could feel on his cheek through the curls of beard, he was lying on his side on a bed of soft straw.
The traveller tried to sit up, but found that he could not. Both his wrists and ankles had been bound with some kind of soft but deftly knotted cloth. The same kind of cloth also seemed to be tied around his face, covering his eyes.
“Is anyone there?” he called out, voice echoing as though he were in a grand hall. For a moment, he thought he heard the hiss of a sudden rain shower, but the sound disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“What are you doing here? And what were you doing outside with no protection on such a cold night?” came a deep, rasping voice from somewhere behind his head. “You were half dead by the time I found you.”
The voice was unlike any he had heard before, but it had a resonance that was transfixing. He could not tell if it belonged to a man or woman. He fancied that it may not belong to a human at all.
“Are you my saviour, then?” the traveller asked. “Or my captor?”
There came a hissing noise that almost sounded like laughter. “One does not preclude the other.”
“I see,” the traveller said delicately. “May I ask your name?”
A long silence followed, interrupted only by the crackle of the fire. Finally, the husky voice answered quietly, “Corolis.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Corolis, despite the circumstances. I am Aziraeus of Delium.” The traveller smiled genially. “May I ask why you’ve trussed me up like a roast boar? It isn’t exactly in the spirit of Greek hospitality.”
“Don’t lecture me about hospitality—it’s for your own protection,” Corolis said in that rich but guttural voice. “I’ll release the bindings on your wrists and ankles if you promise not to remove the blindfold that covers your eyes for as long as you are under my roof.”
“Of course. That would be no great hardship,” Aziraeus said. “Although, may I ask why?”
“No.”
Aziraeus pursed his lips. The answer perturbed him, but he was in no position to make demands. “Very well, then. I promise not to remove the blindfold.”
The woollen blanket covering his body was suddenly pulled away and a pair of hands firmly grasped his shoulders to raise him up to a seated position.
“Hold still, then,” Corolis said as one of their hands grabbed Aziraeus by the arm. The fingers seemed unusually long, wrapping easily around his thick forearm and holding it in place with an unnatural strength.
The bindings on his arms and legs quickly fell away. “Thank you.” Aziraeus sighed in relief, settling back on the bed of straw. As he did so, his stomach let out a loud rumble.
“Ah—you’re hungry,” Corolis said. “I still have some ox I cooked fresh over the fire earlier tonight, if y’want some? And maybe wine?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Aziraeus replied. “I’m utterly famished.”
As Corolis went about preparing his dinner, the scent of cooking meat intensified and Aziraeus found his mouth salivating in anticipation.
“Do you live here with anyone else here?” he asked, trying to distract himself from his hunger pangs.
“Nope. Just me,” Corolis replied, some distance away.
Aziraeus’s eyebrows crept upwards. “You cooked a whole ox just for yourself?”
Corolis hissed defensively. “I was getting ready to salt and smoke it, before you stumbled in here and nearly died.”
“I didn’t mean any offence,” Aziraeus replied, frowning slightly. It seemed as though his host was a prickly sort. “Thank you for sharing your food with me.”
Corolis grunted. “It’s hospitality, isn’t it? Zeus Xenios would be having words with me if I didn’t.”
Aziraeus nodded, feeling exceedingly fortunate that the patron of hospitality and guests was respected in this distant place, wherever he was. Soon, he felt a plate being pushed into one of his hands, and a goblet into the other.
He took a gulp of rich wine, then placed the goblet down at his feet and began exploring the contents of his plate with eager fingers. He wrapped his hands around an ox rib and bit into the tender meat, groaning with relief and satisfaction. He wasted no time devouring his meal, pausing occasionally to wash it down with more wine as he sucked every last piece of meat from the bone.
Finally, when nothing but bare bones remained on his plate, he let out a long sigh of contentment. Then he remembered that he was not alone. “Ah, my apologies. I was so hungry that I quite forgot my manners.”
He heard a heavy swallow, followed by a half-choked cough. “Don’t…I mean, don’t worry about it.”
“Oh…” Hunger finally sated, Aziraeus became very conscious of the meat juices he could feel covering his hands and chin. “I don’t suppose you have a wet cloth I could use to clean myself up?”
“Ah, ngk, yeah. Wait here,” Corolis said, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. The footsteps soon returned and Aziraeus felt those strong, elongated fingers wrap once again around his arm. Then a warm, damp cloth began to tenderly wipe his arms, taking care with the bumps and divots of his elbows and wrists, then wiping each finger one by one. Corolis was cleaning away the remains of his meal, and also the dirt that had built up over the course of his journey.
Part of Aziraeus wanted to object—he was perfectly able to clean himself. But for reasons he wasn’t quite certain of, he stayed silent.
Corolis’s ministrations were firm but gentle, and he heard the cloth being dipped in water again. Soon it was tracing the contours of his nose and cheeks, and Aziraeus couldn’t help but think that this felt like the tender touch of a lover.
He quickly quashed that inappropriate thought. Yes, this was someone who had brought him in from the cold and fed him, but that was all. He knew nothing about this mysterious, rather cantankerous stranger who lived on their own at the edge of the world.
“You never answered my question,” Corolis quietly grumbled as they passed the cloth one last time over the back of Aziraeus’s neck.
“What question was that?” Aziraeus asked, voice coming out in an almost dreamy haze. The care that Corolis had taken had left him feeling loose-limbed and drowsy.
“What are you doing here, so far from any village? You must’ve come a long way. It’s almost winter and the nights do not welcome the unprepared.”
“Oh, yes…” Aziraeus murmured, clasping his hands together in his lap as reality returned to him once more. “I was cast out, I’m afraid.”
“What? Why?” Corolis’s voice was sharp as a dagger. The deep intensity of it made Aziraeus startle slightly, but he did his best to pretend he was unaffected.
“To tell you the truth, I am a seer. My parents said that I was blessed by Apollo, although my visions have often been haphazard and somewhat random,” Aziraeus explained, a tinge of regret colouring his voice. “I was never able to see the specific things that were asked of me, and many found the things that I did see to be…unappealing, I suppose, even if they did eventually turn out to be true.”
“And the people in your village finally had enough of hearing the truth, did they?” Corolis hissed.
“Something like that,” Aziraeus said with a wan smile. “As well as visions, I have also been blessed with an unnaturally long life. I suppose everyone had finally had enough of me. They sent me away with only the clothes on my back, and I walked for many days and nights, subsisting on only berries and water, until I found a wall made of great, unwrought stones, and followed it for a time, until I finally collapsed from exhaustion. That must have been where you found me. Are we still near that same place?”
There was the sound of a clicking tongue, as if Corolis was considering their answer. “Yeah,” they finally said. “Found you at the gate and brought you inside.”
“May I ask where we are?”
“No. You said you’re a seer. Did you foresee this?” Corolis asked. Their voice held a barely concealed intensity that seemed to escape in hissing bursts.
Aziraeus frowned, not quite understanding the question. “This? Being cast out? No, but I had my suspicions that it would happen eventually.”
“Not being cast out. Did you foresee…” Corolis made a peculiar noise that sounded as though it came from the back of their throat. “Did you foresee coming here? Did you foresee me?”
“Did I foresee you? You mean, did I foresee you rescuing me?” Aziraeus cocked his head to one side and hummed thoughtfully. “Not exactly. While on the road, amid fitful dreams, I did once feel myself being warmed by a fire. My head was resting upon someone’s thigh, and they were stroking my hair in a way that seemed…tender, I suppose. It certainly wasn’t a memory. I’m fairly certain it was a vision.”
“I have taken no such liberties with your hair,” Corolis grumbled in that strange, guttural voice.
“No, of course not,” Aziraeus said quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply—“
“Leave it.”
“It’s just that you’ve been so kind—“
“I have not been kind,” Corolis rasped. “I have simply given you the required hospitality. You will follow my rules while you are here, and when you have regained your strength, you will leave. I have fed you, cleaned you, kept you warm, and given you a place to sleep. I have done my duty. You may not be able to return to your home, but you will have to find somewhere else to go. You cannot stay here.”
“Of…of course. My apologies for overstepping,” Aziraeus replied, folding his hands in his lap in a gesture of contrition. “I do not wish to burden you with my presence for any longer than necessary. When I wake in the morning, I will take my leave.”
“As it should be,” Corolis growled. “If you follow the wall behind you to the east, you will find the exit. Only once you feel the sunlight on your cheeks may you remove the blindfold. Good night, traveller, and goodbye.”
There was the sound of angry, retreating footsteps and Aziraeus settled himself back down on his bed of straw, feeling around until he found where the woollen blanket had fallen by his feet. Pulling it up around his shoulders, Aziraeus frowned to himself.
He had no idea what exactly had said to make his host so upset. Was it the implications of kindness? Tenderness? Regardless, he could tell when he was not wanted. He was determined to make a quiet exit in the morning, no matter the likelihood that he would die out in the wilderness.
And no matter how intrigued he was about the identity of his peculiar saviour.
The crackle and warmth of the fire filled him up from the inside out. Half asleep, Aziraeus could still fancy that he felt those long fingers upon him, cleaning him with such gentleness and care. Still exhausted from his journey, he found himself slipping away into a deep and restful slumber.
When he awoke, Aziraeus was unsure whether morning had arrived, but the fire’s hearty crackle had quietened and when he peeked out from the warm blanket, his cheeks felt the chill of the air. He forced himself to sit up, stretching out his aching muscles and yawning. He tentatively raised his hands to his eyes, feeling the blindfold still in place.
Good. It was as his host had requested and he didn’t plan on displeasing them any further. Aziraeus slowly stood up and reached his hands out, stepping around the makeshift bed.
When his hands reached the hard, cold stone of a wall, he pressed one palm against it. But which direction was east? He had no way of knowing.
Picking a direction at random, he began to walk alongside the structure, the other hand outstretched in front of him. His steps were slow and steady, and when the wall bent and turned, so did he. He had been doing so for several minutes and had just turned at an open archway when his outstretched hand encountered something unexpected.
Something hard and cold, and shaped like a human. A statue, it seemed.
Aziraeus let his fingers map the contours of the statue that stood in his path. It was clearly carved by a skilled artisan. In fact, it was a shockingly well-rendered effigy. The arms and shoulders were raised, as though in a defensive gesture. His fingers traced an upturned nose, prominent cheekbones, small ears, short hair, and…
His fingers faltered on lips that opened into a wide-mouthed scream. Fingers delving inside, he could even make out the bumps of teeth and a tongue. This was clearly the work of a master. But why make an eerily lifelike statue that was perpetually screaming in horror? It was frightful.
Aziraeus shrunk back from it, before reaching out again and using the statue’s shoulder to navigate his way around it and resume his journey. But instead of the wall, he found another statue.
It was clearly not identical. This one was taller than the first, with hair that hung down to its shoulders in loose waves. The nose was larger, the cheekbones higher, but the mouth—again, the mouth hung open in screaming horror.
He turned around and found another. And another.
By now, Aziraeus had begun to suspect that he had started off in the wrong direction. But the realism of these horrid statues had unnerved him so much that he’d become completely turned around. He couldn’t remember the direction of the entrance to this place, and every direction he turned was met with more screaming stone mouths.
“Corolis! Are you there?” he called out, trying not to let his panic show in his voice. “I seem to have become lost. Is anyone there?”
“What are you doing?!” growled a harsh, rough voice from behind him. “Why did you come here when I told you to leave?”
“I didn’t know which way was east!” Aziraeus cried. “How was I supposed to know which direction to go in when I can’t see a blasted thing?”
“Ah…” the growling noises subsided to a quiet hiss. “Yeah, right. Didn’t think about that.”
“No, you clearly didn’t. Instead, you got mad and stomped off. If you want me to leave, you’re going to have to show me the exit yourself. But until then, could we please go somewhere else? This maze of statues is making me uncomfortable.”
That strong hand with long fingers that grabbed Aziraeus firmly by the bicep and led him away.
“Were they your work?” Aziraeus asked as they walked together, footsteps echoing around them. “The statues, I mean?”
Corolis let out a strange, shuddering exhale, but did not answer.
“If you did make them, you’re a very skilled artist. I’m not sure why you decided to make them all…afraid. But nevertheless—”
“Just leave it,” Corolis hissed sharply.
Aziraeus sighed. “Of course. I’m sorry. I seem to have upset you again.”
Corolis stopped abruptly and Aziraeus almost barrelled into him.
“You want the work of a master artist? Feel over here,” Corolis said, jerking Aziraeus by the arm and pressing his hand against the cold wall.
Beneath his fingertips were the rough bumps and divots of carved stone. Aziraeus was guided by Corolis’s hand, which pressed firmly to the back of his own. Their bodies ended up in alignment, Aziraeus’s shoulder slotted just beneath his guide’s. His fingertips were led along what seemed to be the edge of an arched doorway. It took a few moments for him to make sense of the repeated pattern, but he suddenly cried out, “Oh! A lion motif! How lovely.”
Corolis let out a huff and Aziraeus felt it on the back of his neck. “Impressed that you can tell that just by touch. Ancient hands carved these walls. I’ve always appreciated them,” came a growling murmur from behind Aziraeus’s ear. It sent a shiver down his spine.
“And the walls outside?” he asked, voice pitching a little higher than usual. “Those stones were too large to have been lifted into place by human hands. I can only imagine they were built by creatures of enormous size. Was this the capital of a race of cyclops, perhaps?”
Corolis snorted. “Doubt it. You underestimate human ingenuity. But either way, the people who built this place are long dead.”
“I see,” Aziraeus said, suddenly becoming acutely aware of the way Corolis was still pinning him up against the wall, holding him there with a gentle pressure. He was chagrined to notice the effect their physical proximity was having on his body.
It was probably just because he hadn’t felt the touch of another in so long. That was what it had to be. And Corolis had been so hot and cold towards him…it was disorienting. That was all there was to it. His body was simply confused.
Aziraeus cleared his throat and Corolis abruptly sprung backwards.
“Listen, I…uhh…” Corolis began, pausing to make a strange choking noise. “Ngk, I’d been coming to tell you…you don’t have to go. Shouldn’t have gotten mad last night. Not your fault.”
“Are you apologising to me?” Aziraeus asked, feeling even more bewildered than he had when pressed against the wall. “I should be apologising to you! I was clearly too familiar and made you uncomfortable. I always seem to end up making people uncomfortable. You aren’t the first and you certainly won’t be the last. It is for the best that I go.”
“What? Don’t do that,” Corolis growled. “What a stupid thing to say.”
“Wh—err—I’m sorry?” Aziraeus managed to splutter.
He heard Corolis take a deep breath in and out. “Listen…haven’t had company in a long time. Bit out of practice. I was rude to you. Again. Can we start over?”
“Of course,” Aziraeus responded faintly.
Corolis cleared their throat, producing a strange rumbling noise. “Welcome, traveller. My name is Corolis. I’ve been living out here on my own here for…well, let’s just say a long time…and I think I’ve started going a bit weird. Could do with some company. As long as you make sure to keep the blindfold on the entire time you’re here, you’re welcome to stay. Would you…like to stay?”
“Oh, truly?” Aziraeus beamed. “I would love to. But may I be so bold as to ask for the second time, why? The blindfold I mean.”
Corolis let out a long hiss. “Nah. Afraid I still can’t answer that.”
Aziraeus shrugged. “Oh, well. It was worth a try. And anyway, I said last night, it is no great hardship to me. You see, I’m blind.”
A peculiar choking sound came from Corolis’s direction. “You’re blind?! Why the hell didn’t you say so earlier?”
Aziraeus sniffed and tipped his chin upwards. “Well, you didn’t ask, did you? And I was going to mention it if you told me why the blindfold was necessary, but you didn’t—so I didn’t either.”
There was no sound for a few long moments, and Aziraeus had begun to wonder whether he’d offended his host yet again, when Corolis finally asked, “How blind are you, exactly?”
“I can see some hazy light and shadow, but that’s about it, I’m afraid. My eyesight deteriorated rapidly during childhood and I have been like this ever since.”
“How the hell did you survive out in the wilds if you can’t see?” Shock and outrage underlined Corolis’s words. “How could anyone send you out to fend for yourself if you’re completely blind?! That’s a death sentence!”
“I’m as shocked as you that I made it this far. As I travelled, I kept the river to my right side. It ensured I had access to fresh water, some familiar berries grew beside it, and I thought it likely that it would guide me to another town or city. Although, I had just about given up hope before you found me.”
“You’re a marvel,” Corolis murmured.
A flush began to creep up Aziraeus’s neck that he hoped wasn’t particularly obvious. “So, may I take the blindfold off?” he asked.
Corolis hummed. “Yeah, guess you can.”
“Thank you,” Aziraeus said. He undid the firmly tied knot at the back of his head and the blindfold slipped away, leaving things largely the same as they had been before, although it felt nice to have the pressure off his temples. “Actually, I did have one request…” He paused, hoping that he wasn’t about to be overly familiar again and make his host uncomfortable. Actually, he was aware that this request would almost definitely be too familiar, but he couldn’t help but ask. “Would you mind terribly if I observed your face? With my hands, I mean.”
That strange rumbling growl came from Corolis’s throat once again. “What’dya mean? Like…feel my face?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I’d like to know what you look like, if you’re at all amenable. I would completely understand if you’d prefer not to—“
“No!” Corolis’s voice came out harsh and guttural, then they growled, seemingly in annoyance. “Listen, you probably shouldn’t. You aren’t gonna like what you find.”
Aziraeus hummed thoughtfully. “Is it because you aren’t human? I’ve already worked out that much by myself. I’d just…like to know the shape of you, I suppose. Especially if we’re to be companions here for a time. You’d be completely within your rights to say no, but please don’t think that I’m going to run for the hills at the first sign of strangeness.”
“You will run,” Corolis hissed. “You should run.”
“I won’t,” Aziraeus said simply. He had begun to see Corolis’s reticence as a challenge of sorts, since it seemed to come from a fear of rejection. Aziraeus knew what it was like to be rejected and was determined not to cause such hurt to this strange being who lived at the edge of the world. “You have my word.”
Corolis growled again. “Very well. If you insist.” The word ‘insist’ stretched out strangely, like the hiss of a snake.
Aziraeus took a couple of halting steps forward, hands outstretched. Long fingers wrapped around his wrists and raised them up so the fingertips were pressed against slightly sunken cheeks.
He touched his thumbs to Corolis’s chin, then dragged them slowly outwards until they eventually came to rest on the notches at the corners of their jaw. Smooth, human skin so far. His fingertips ghosted down what felt like the tendons of a long, slender neck, then moved upwards to curl around two perfectly normal ears. He stopped to give the earlobes a gentle squeeze, and felt the hint of a smile where the heels of his palms rested against Corolis’s cheeks.
Aziraeus’s fingers followed the curve of the outer ears inwards to rest upon high cheek bones. The cheek bones led to a pleasingly aquiline nose that he ran one finger up and down several times, just to get a better feel for it. So far, so human. Corolis’s face was painting a rather pleasing portrait.
He followed the line of the nose upwards with his index fingers to reach the eyebrows and circle around the bones of the eye sockets, but that was where Aziraeus paused. Not human, then.
“Oh…” he murmured, running his fingers around them in a circle once more. The eye sockets were far larger and rounder than he had expected. “Your eyes must be quite striking. May I ask what colour they are?”
He heard Corolis’s swallow and felt a puff of hot breath upon his cheek. “Gold. T-they’re…gold.”
“Incredible…” Aziraeus murmured, as his fingers drifted downwards, back past the cheekbones and nose, to find the small cleft that led to two perfect, freshly wet lips. They parted immediately under the barest hint of pressure.
Aziraeus cautiously pressed two fingers inside, just up to the first knuckle. Inside were teeth far sharper than his own, and a pliant tongue. He pressed down on it and Corolis let out a guttural moan, before sucking the fingers inside a hot mouth that accepted the intrusion so willingly it made Aziraeus’s knees weak.
Like this was not just wanted, but craved.
Emboldened, he thrust his fingers in several times, drawing out more of those delicious moans. He felt Corolis’s cheeks hollow as he sucked down the two fingers with enthusiasm.
Almost unconsciously, his other hand drifted upwards, fingers curving around the base of Corolis’s skull, where he felt…what was that?
Aziraeus and Corolis both froze, fingers still pressed down against a now still tongue.
“Are those snakes, my dear?” Aziraeus asked quietly, withdrawing the fingers from Corolis’s mouth. His other hand tentatively brushed against what felt like the scaly bodies of numerous small, writhing serpents.
As if in answer, the snakes hissed in tandem like a sudden deluge of rain. Slowly, cautiously, Aziraeus used a finger to stroke down the sinuous body of one small serpent. Its head rose up to meet his hand and he felt a tiny tongue dart out, tickling him ever so slightly.
“Hello there, little one,” Aziraeus murmured softly. “Aren’t you an unexpected delight?”
“You can’t be serious,” Corolis growled.
“About what?”
“About me! Stop pretending.”
Aziraeus sniffed haughtily. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What am I?”
“Pardon me?”
Aziraeus felt Corolis step closer so their chests were pressed together. He felt a hot breath on the shell of his ear and an errant snake or two nosing up against his curls. “Say it. What am I?”
“Well,” Aziraeus said primly, “from the evidence presented thus far, you seem to be a Gorgon.”
“And?”
“And what?” Aziraeus responded, frowning. He wasn’t quite certain why Corolis was making such a fuss. “It’s not as though you’re Cerberus himself. And the snakes aren’t going to bite me, are they? They seem rather friendly.”
“Well, no. They don’t bite. But that’s not the point. Aziraeus, I’m an inhuman monster whose eyes turn people to stone.”
“Perhaps. But I can only assume that this self-imposed exile is an attempt to avoid such occurrences, yes? That, as well as the fact that you insisted on keeping me blindfolded this entire time, makes me think that you’re actually rather kind.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Corolis hissed.
“Am I? I think I’m rather lucky to have found myself exactly where I should be. We’re both exiles. We both desire company. We both seem to desire…well, I won’t assume just yet, but we both seem to be, at least superficially, rather physically compatible. And while you seem to live in fear of hurting others, I’m someone who you cannot accidentally hurt. Providence seems to be on our side, wouldn’t you say?”
Corolis let out an eerie, low chuckle beside Aziraeus’s ear that caused a wave of goosebumps to erupt over his skin. “It’s just that simple, is it?”
“I believe it might be.”
Corolis took Aziraeus’s hand and intertwined their fingers together, leading him further into the depths of the ancient fortified city that was now his new home.
Unseeing, but completely trusting, Aziraeus let himself be laid down on that soft bed of straw once again. But this time, there was the dip of another body lying down beside his own. Strong hands spread him out and sharp teeth went about nipping and sucking every soft, secret nook and taut, desperate muscle.
Aziraeus’s hands reached out in turn, brazen with enthusiasm, exploring the unfamiliar body of his Gorgon lover—inhuman in many ways, but those differences were exciting and full of promise. The low guttural moans that Corolis produced at the back of their throat were far more potent than any aphrodisiac.
When Aziraeus’s fingers finally delved into a slick, hot wetness that seemed to extend far higher and wider than he had expected, it drew him inside with such eagerness that he toppled forwards face-first and ended up dripping in the salty liquor of his lover’s body. He had never tasted anything so delicious in all his long life.
Of course, the prophecy was fulfilled, many times over. On countless mornings, Aziraeus would slowly awaken to the feeling of long fingers carding through his hair, accompanied by a soft hiss like gentle rain.
For his part, Aziraeus would sometimes foresee the arrival of a lost traveller or a misguided warrior who would stumble into their ancient sanctuary, seeking shelter or the glory that would come from killing a fearsome Gorgon. These people would encounter a welcoming, blind oracle who would offer them a hearty meal and send them on their way with a bundle of honey cakes for the road. And no one had to be turned to stone ever again.