/// come close to midnight, hell fade me down
and then my eyes got used to the darkness
and then my eyes got used to the darkness
“Ha! They did not.” The butcher says with another warm laugh, the smile tugged on his face in pure amusement - even if he could absolutely believe that they had. He’d only had a few friends within the Climb, and those had always held loyalty of ruining Morax over any loyalty to him. Which, at the time he understood. But here? Where the only ones in charge of their own destiny and how they live were the very two of them standing here? He finds it horribly oppressing. “They never came to find out, such a shame.” He drawls once he gets his laughter under control, his smile softening but no less sharp for it.
His cheek brushes against Danta’s crown, careful to avoid pricking himself on any sharp juts of diamond that glitter in the light. “I would not be opposed to going back.” He admits, watching his shadow idly as it tries its best to mimic Danta’s movements. He feels the tension stir, before it relaxes, and he tilts his head to press a kiss to his lover’s temple before he draws up a little straighter.
“He was restless with the wicker woman appearance. And, he likes you.” Sure, the illusion is an extension of himself in more than one way, but the butcher’s content in pretending the shadow is of its own mind and not the subconscious thoughts that linger within the confines of Astaroth’s dark mind.
The shadow, as if being noticed, freezes too - a hole opening within the black pit of it, flashing a sharp grin back and eyes that clearly seem to be happy at being noticed. The claws reach up again, prodding at another shadowed leaf for an experiment before it stretches out again to vanish momentarily, presumably in the rest of the shadow of the Mathair.
His cheek brushes against Danta’s crown, careful to avoid pricking himself on any sharp juts of diamond that glitter in the light. “I would not be opposed to going back.” He admits, watching his shadow idly as it tries its best to mimic Danta’s movements. He feels the tension stir, before it relaxes, and he tilts his head to press a kiss to his lover’s temple before he draws up a little straighter.
“He was restless with the wicker woman appearance. And, he likes you.” Sure, the illusion is an extension of himself in more than one way, but the butcher’s content in pretending the shadow is of its own mind and not the subconscious thoughts that linger within the confines of Astaroth’s dark mind.
The shadow, as if being noticed, freezes too - a hole opening within the black pit of it, flashing a sharp grin back and eyes that clearly seem to be happy at being noticed. The claws reach up again, prodding at another shadowed leaf for an experiment before it stretches out again to vanish momentarily, presumably in the rest of the shadow of the Mathair.
Astaroth
and everyone that i knew,
was lost and so long forgotten after you ///
was lost and so long forgotten after you ///
