Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
He meets her pale gaze and the silence stretches on for so long that his stomach feels like the waves beneath the docks nearby, crashing and tossing and turning in the Flowerbirth sun. Only after their eyes meet for an uncomfortable amount of time for the butcher, does he look away, nostrils flaring as he tries to inhale another deep breath to ward away the nausea, hand returning to pinch at the bridge of his nose like it could stop the tears that keep threatening to appear.
He hates this, every second of it. Feeling small, broken, torn up, nauseous, weak. His shirt has most certainly wrinkled now with how hard his arm is pressed up against his chest, with the heat that races through his body in his upset that makes it feel like its on fire. And when she does finally speak, he’s partially too stunned and silent to know what to eloquently say.
“Okay.” Is all he manages to grit out, eyes shutting tight for a moment before he swipes stubbornly at his cheeks and tries to pull himself back together. He’s a long way from the Dusklight right now but maybe it would be worth disappearing into the woods to try and get his mind back together. The pyre would take some time to fully burn out anyway, and he’d already spoken to the merchants and families that lived close enough to the docks to know which pile was for what.
Maybe that was good enough. It had to be. Because without much announcement of his intentions, the butcher shifts into the fyrhund and darts off toward the trees in the distance. A subconscious need to disappear.
He hates this, every second of it. Feeling small, broken, torn up, nauseous, weak. His shirt has most certainly wrinkled now with how hard his arm is pressed up against his chest, with the heat that races through his body in his upset that makes it feel like its on fire. And when she does finally speak, he’s partially too stunned and silent to know what to eloquently say.
“Okay.” Is all he manages to grit out, eyes shutting tight for a moment before he swipes stubbornly at his cheeks and tries to pull himself back together. He’s a long way from the Dusklight right now but maybe it would be worth disappearing into the woods to try and get his mind back together. The pyre would take some time to fully burn out anyway, and he’d already spoken to the merchants and families that lived close enough to the docks to know which pile was for what.
Maybe that was good enough. It had to be. Because without much announcement of his intentions, the butcher shifts into the fyrhund and darts off toward the trees in the distance. A subconscious need to disappear.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
