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Akivili’s mortal form became a sort of mosaic, each shard borrowed from mankind and set carefully into place by an affectionate observer's hands. It was a love letter to the human body.
Aha's was not. Aha did not care for maintaining accuracy, they deemed it unnecessary. As long as they donned an appearance just barely human enough to pass as one, it did not matter; to Aha, it was little more than mere sheepskin that they shedded whenever they pleased. They were a ticking time bomb encased in a hollow, superficial shell.
But this did not bother Akivili.
"Would you prefer it if [my hand] was warmer, like yours?"
They shook their head.
“I adore you the way you are.”A story about two Aeons learning to love (and their eventual fall from grace)