Not with words—Valdís, the Fallen God of Ruin, never lied with words. He lied with silences. With the way his scarred fingers paused before touching my skin. With the way he said “run” like a prayer rather than a command.
But the texts never mentioned this—the way his hand trembled when I reached for it. The way his divine fire banked low, afraid to burn me. The way he said my mortal name like it was the only prayer left in his hollow chest. When he takes -Fallen god 2- - Gabrielle Sands
“To speak.” I stepped closer, my bare feet pressing into cold marble stained with divine blood. “And I’m telling you now—you don’t get to fall alone.” Not with words—Valdís, the Fallen God of Ruin,
Of me.
For the first time in a thousand years, the Fallen God laughed. With the way he said “run” like a
“If I take you again,” he warned, “I will not stop. I will not be gentle. I will devour every corner of your soul until nothing remains but the shape of my teeth.”
It was an awful sound. Broken. Beautiful. The sound of a ruin learning to stand again.