witching hour

all you have is your fire
and the place you need to reach

"You and me both," Danta says of their encounter with the wicker woman, brows furrowing as the labyrinth of her roots and canopy of her branches flashes once more behind his eyes. Only as his memory replays the way one of the boughs had slammed into Astaroth - gods, the sound as it had connected - does he suddenly shake himself off and sit up, as if the movement might be able to dispel the train of thought. "Tea it is," he confirms, and though it's surprisingly difficult to peel himself away from the other man, Danta does slip out of bed, scrubbing a hand across his face.

He doesn't have the same fancy tea set that the butcher had procured for himself a season past, but there's a kettle, tea, and functional enough cups to accomplish what they need. Once he's prepared everything and set the kettle over the fire to boil the water, he shuffles back to sink down onto the couch, one knee drawn towards his chest, his tail flicking restlessly down by his ankle.

"Sounds like the Dusklight is still having a great time," he mumbles, head flopped back against the sofa cushion; it's faint, but music and voices can still be heard somewhere beneath them on the main floor. "Good for them."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons
but always keep them on a leash