If you're standing in the cold out of fear your flaws will show
“How beautifully macabre.” The butcher purrs as they arrive to the Hanging Tree. His honey gaze bright as he takes in the menacing tree, the ropes swinging in the wind, the bones and skeletons that linger in pieces among the large roots of the tree. The scent of sticky, old blood clings in the humid air, lit by the golden sun that’s just crested past the afternoon.
He has brought an extra pair of clothes, the bag left on the edge of the swamp and out of the way, the boots the butcher wears more akin to rubber boots than anything intricately made, but the butcher seems to not care much about keeping his appearance perfectly normal in favor for this.
Mud and swamp water squelch as he steps into it, turning so that he faces Danta and reaches up with both hands to pull him in with him, delight clearly writ on his features. “Do you feel it in the air, darling?” He asks in a soft, mischievous hum, as if acknowledging it would make the oppressing feeling disappear.
He has brought an extra pair of clothes, the bag left on the edge of the swamp and out of the way, the boots the butcher wears more akin to rubber boots than anything intricately made, but the butcher seems to not care much about keeping his appearance perfectly normal in favor for this.
Mud and swamp water squelch as he steps into it, turning so that he faces Danta and reaches up with both hands to pull him in with him, delight clearly writ on his features. “Do you feel it in the air, darling?” He asks in a soft, mischievous hum, as if acknowledging it would make the oppressing feeling disappear.
Astaroth
We can live out where the warmth is 'til our names are etched in stone
