my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
A low chuckle leaves the butcher as he inclines his head toward her, helping her to finish her task before he’s straightening up and brushing off the majority of dirt from his hands before a lick of flame appears to clean his fingertips off. “Gods, what a beautiful world it would be.” He hums softly, tucking his sleeves up slightly higher than his wrists with his clean fingertips before he sticks his hands completely into the flame to clean his palms. Brushing any lingering ash away, the smile he shoots her way is bright and genuine.
“Lovely, actually. I am glad that Flowerbirth is upon us once more.” Because Deepfrost was always such a nightmare for Ancients, especially those that lived in a place where it snowed. But he’d survived it, obviously, to stand before her and offer a bright smile. “How are you? And the Celestine, of course.” Inclining his antlered head, the butcher’s tail sways low by his heels.
“Lovely, actually. I am glad that Flowerbirth is upon us once more.” Because Deepfrost was always such a nightmare for Ancients, especially those that lived in a place where it snowed. But he’d survived it, obviously, to stand before her and offer a bright smile. “How are you? And the Celestine, of course.” Inclining his antlered head, the butcher’s tail sways low by his heels.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
