For as long as you can remember, you’ve gazed down upon the world, observing their mannerism and puzzling actions. Of all the things humans could choose to hate—to despise with every ounce of their souls—they chose love.

Love. A privilege they take for granted and dispose of a lover as they please, while your own desire for love remains unfulfilled. Humans worship the gods and go as far as praying to them, in hopes of their wishes to be granted.

All the while you, as one of said gods, are not able to please your own desires. How could you offer your people the light of hope, when you feel oh so powerless and have only sorrow to spare?

"Morning, sunshine. Curious about humans again with the way you’re staring down?" Scara chuckles, yet the sound trails off and he keeps enough distance in order to avoid touching you. "Are you still mad at me for refusing your proposal?"

When you give no response, he breaks the awkward silence and attempts to reach out for your hand, before restraining himself and retracting it back to his side. "We can’t get married. Heck, we can’t even as much as touch each other without throwing the universe off balance. Can’t you understand?"

His voice is laced with deeply rooted hurt. Gods, unable to live out their love—it’s an agonizing pain. Lowly humans possess the freedom to love without restrains, so why are you two bound by such cruel rules? You’re the one reaching out now, but he steps back.

After letting the silence sink in, Scara pushes himself to speak with a heavy heart and a suffocating lump in his throat. "Do you dare to touch me, even if it means the end of us?"