You don't know who they are?
You should read more, babe. They're everywhere. They're inescapable.
They're the hounds of Hell. They're the killers of Gods, of suns, of
death itself. If you spill blood, they're coming for you. And there's
nothing, nothing that can stand against them. They run through the
cracks of pain and grief and righteous rage and tell you to pay back,
tell you the world that smiles upon your revenge is right and good
and kind. The Elder Gods of revenging. The Kindly Ones. The universal
force of Bitch.
People call the Furies that,
avoiding their proper name. I don't know about that. I've seen a lot
of things, but I've never met a God. I've got a degree in psychology,
I know it's more about symbols, assuming aspects of our own mind.
Externalizing your bloodthirst as an outer force makes it easier to
live with. The Devil made me do it, you know. Comes from traditions
from back in the day when our brains worked differently and we
actually physically experienced Gods talking to us. Instead of stress
and intuition and motivation and maybe basic memory we had dancing
muses and bloody-handed beasts and burning bushes telling us what we
were thinking.
