Pharusian

“My creatures are delicate, not gentle,” Pharusian’s words caused both air and stone to quake, but gently, as though the dragon and the grotto were one body with one voice. “None crave the caresses of a jellyfish, but one may watch this creature’s body collapse in on itself, as soon as it is taken from the water. Some are delicate, but not weak. The weak die.”

“My pardons,” a small grey dragon muttered, keeping its head low. “Pardons. Pardons.”

“Although I have time in abundance, you continue to find a way to waste it.”

The pulsing shades of blue light the great sea lord irradiated ruptured outlines, confused depth, and obscured features. This light, the silence that fell whenever the lord ceased to speak, and his voice when he did speak, served to dazzle the mind.

There was a flutter of wings as the small dragon shuffled, filling the grotto with the sound of its growing unease. “Pardons-“

The massive form of the pulsating lord rose, casting a wave of light across the small dragon, drowning it as it shrunk low against the sand. It cried out, and the lord sneered.

“You came to beg favor. You bring me nothing but prattle and clumsy worship. Do you have anything but your flesh and noise to offer me?”

“Flesh?” the small dragon squealed. “My lord, forgive me. Forgive me. I- I serve another. It is she who- who-“ The creature lost its voice as the sea lord towered above it, and then, soundlessly, washed over it.

Soon, Pharusian was alone once more. He stood over the marks of red in the sand, and musing, sifted the sand until it was as it should be.