Fics like Deceit’s Sacrificial Lamb

The God of Deceit was once a god who danced through truth like a flame through old parchment— destructive, beautiful, inevitable. But that was before the fae turned their backs. Before they bound him in this tree, with chains etched in runes that gnawed through flesh and soul alike. Now he is stillness. Now he is silence. Now he is Shadow Milk— the god no one remembers, watching the world like a man at the bottom of a well watches the light too far above to reach. And so he waits. Through the thin membrane of reality, where the veil is weakest, he sees the world. He sees the golden fields stretching in humble simplicity, dotted with the flicker of sheep. He sees the hill, where wildflowers bloom with such audacity they seem to challenge the sky. And there, in the middle of it all— white as a breath, still as a prayer —is the shepherd. Pure Vanilla. ... Pure Vanilla thinks of his flock as he dies. He thinks of Dandelion. He thinks of warm bread and honey. Of sun on his face. Of the feeling of grass beneath his feet. Death is not merciful, it is not quick. The shepherd bleeds, and The God of Deceit does not intervene.

Fics like Deceit’s Sacrificial Lamb

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