war thrives on power, but it is not, strictly speaking, a part of her being the way violence is. conquest waits for her to kick his heels as they pass empty gas stations, crumbing roadside motels, and rotting churches. she’s relentless in her pursuit of power, her monstrous kaleidoscopic hunger taking revolving around his conquests.
death, however, finds power meaningless. he finds the words trapped between tongue and cheek, beneath his sickle-shaped fingers all becomes nothing. his favourite things to dissolve are: dreams, ambitions, thoughts. death says that among the things he consumes is power but he does not wield it.
(conquest thinks that is a lie because it sticks in the confines of his skull and rattles).