Still Waters
He cannot remember his beginnings, only that he has been, and been, and been, back, and back, and back, for years, upon years, upon years, into the distant ages when he and his brothers and his sisters were Kings and Queens, Masters of the depths and breadths of the wide and ever-changing Sea.
But He spares none, in the end, not even they Slayers of Distress, Despair, and Pain, and one by one He came for them, until he was the last.
He has grown older, he has grown colder, and sometimes, only briefly, he is weary of telling his heart it does not exist only to feel it beat twice as hard in defiance.
But he is the Master, and the Master does not know distress, nor despair, nor pain, nor weariness—no, the Master does not know weakness, rather, he devours it whole, swallows it into the crushing darkness to roil and to rot.
(oh, you are what you eat, is that what the humans say—?)
His throne is blood and bones, and often he wonders why, having risen, it so often feels like he is falling into an abyss—deeper than the Canyon, than the Dark, than even the Deep which he calls 'home'—
He is the Pale One, the Master Shark, oh, he is ed'Rastekeresket t'k Gh'shestaesteh, and a spratling once told him there were teeth in his name, but on occasion he wonders if those very teeth will one day be his own undoing.
Quick Ed drabble from a while back...so much untapped story potential swimming around in that ancient head of his...