[Gilgamesh just scoffs, a grating sound in itself.]

I do not need permission to act as I please.

[And that's that. He does wince, at the sting of the blade, not because he's scared but because he'd rather keep all of his flesh in one piece. His fingers claw uselessly into the dirt, and he shifts, uneasily beneath her weight. His lips begin to move a bit bizarrely as he speaks—a warning sign he's up to something.]

And I will offer you no apologies, as I have done nothing to warrant such a concession.

[This close, she can see his eyes are just as ethereal, just as chilling. Serpentine pupils dilate, then turn razor thin, in a single breath.]

I warn you one last time: move. Or I will move you in such a way you are guaranteed to dislike.