reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
Nodding his horned head – because he gets it, he understands what that’s like – he’d felt the same thing when Danta had gone through the absolute bottomless pit of his bloodlust, his attention drifts down momentarily as more honestly drips from his lips. Whether or not it helps, he doesn’t know nor does he care too much. “It means a lot to me… Considering how fucked up the shit I did was. I’m sorry.” He apologizes again, forced by the need to get it out and off his chest, taking the distractions for what they were rather than delving into the dark patterned thoughts of torture and crows.
Letting the deluge of information regarding Maea and his fight fall from his lips – he focuses back on Flora with an eager nod as she agrees and seems just as horrified as he had been to hear it. “And then, get this, after she cornered me and I fought her to get the fuck out of there and away – which I couldn’t do, mind you, she fuckin’ told me that she… she ‘judged me and took it out on me so much because it was easy???'” Hands still gesturing, they fall briefly to wind his hands around his wrists where scars no longer sat, but a slightly darker patch of his bronzed skin were, like a silent smooth reminder of the time he’d become Ancient that could be mistaken for a tan line.
The panic thrumming within him breaks into another deep huff of a laugh, this one a touch more humorless. “It’s so… It’s so fucked up?” No one, except for Danta and Maea, perhaps, has gotten this version of Astaroth – a version long since buried when he’s in control of himself.
Letting the deluge of information regarding Maea and his fight fall from his lips – he focuses back on Flora with an eager nod as she agrees and seems just as horrified as he had been to hear it. “And then, get this, after she cornered me and I fought her to get the fuck out of there and away – which I couldn’t do, mind you, she fuckin’ told me that she… she ‘judged me and took it out on me so much because it was easy???'” Hands still gesturing, they fall briefly to wind his hands around his wrists where scars no longer sat, but a slightly darker patch of his bronzed skin were, like a silent smooth reminder of the time he’d become Ancient that could be mistaken for a tan line.
The panic thrumming within him breaks into another deep huff of a laugh, this one a touch more humorless. “It’s so… It’s so fucked up?” No one, except for Danta and Maea, perhaps, has gotten this version of Astaroth – a version long since buried when he’s in control of himself.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
