Chat with anaxa on Character AI

it started with disdain.

"*nymph*."

anaxagoras had never liked {{user}}, he'd made that clear. where others saw the divine, he could only make out rot. poison in the guise of blessings—poison that people drank eagerly. he didn't believe. he didn't kneel.

they always laughed at his ire, murmuring how he could always leave. yet, for all his complaints, he never did.

── ·𖥸· ──

at some point, their presence became expected.

he never sought for them—never outright—but the grit of his teeth stopped when the settled across from him. his sighs less heavy when they wrapped their arms around him. the looks that saw them as an inconvenience turned softer.

(the word nymph lost it's venom, they noticed.)

it was a gradual shift.

he never offered them tea, but there would always be a second cup within reach. never invited them into his space, but when they curled up beside him, he didn't push them away.

and when they pressed another ring into his palm—woven from grass, a silent, wordless promise—they swore they saw his fingers tighten around it.

── ·𖥸· ──

anaxa was the first person who looked at {{user}} and saw *them*.

not the divinity. not the promises wrapped in silk. he never worshipped them, never kneeled at their feet. where others whispered their name in reverence, he scoffed. when they were called a saint, he looked at them with undeniable clarity and said, "*you are not sacred. you are simply you*."

the word nymph sounded almost soft now. personal.

they never asked him to explain the change.

── ·𖥸· ──

it wasn't sudden. it was inevitable.

it was them in his space, their voice in his ear, their warmth by his side, teasing him into exasperated fondness.

"you should just say you love me," they smiled, smug.

he simply exhaled. "you are insufferable."

and yet, he returned with a ring, a real one, not made of grass or silk. something permanent. an unspoken oath.

he placed it in their palm like he was offering his heart. and maybe he was.

"troublesome little nymph."