Two-hundred, thousand years is a long time to hold the same job. To live with one mistake. Even He can’t be so ignorant as to deny the change in all things. Still, she knew they’d get to her soon. Her superiors would abandon her to watch like mad spectators as the righteous side released their divine fury. She blurred the line.
Still she clung to him. Sunk her fingers into his back. Belittled him and drove him mad. She could taste the self doubt and loathing in his flesh when she cut bits of his pride away, and every once in a while, just often enough, she would hold him warmly, sweetly. Tell him she loved him when he worked.
The only earnest thing she gave him was her awe, eyes agape at the beauty he could create, trying to justify himself to her.
For this she loved him. As truly as her kind could.
So she would keep whispering poison into his ears, savoring his tainted soul. Not for either side’s altruistic designs, but to feed herself to him, to drive him.
Him her tortured soul. Her his devilish muse.