// I'm putting you out of your misery //
She’ll find that she doesn’t have to poke or prod him far in order to see the writhing illusions lingering under his skin. And as he explains, his fingers continue their idle patterns, thinking of the tangled past but very grateful for this portion of their lives to right the wrongs. Such that, when she offers her thoughts and that warm invisible touch down his chest by her cheek, he can’t help the soft rumble of a laugh that shakes through him, reverberating against her cheek. “As do I at times, I can assure you.” It’s a teasing tone that’s draped in his accent, before he asking her whether she wishes to see the nightmare made flesh.
And much to his quiet, thrilling surprise, she agrees.
His horns have stopped their extension for the moment, even as his shadows remain twitchy and excited with their anticipation of being let loose. But he releases her as she goes to move, tracking the shimmering form until he loses track of her again. Her warning is taken lightly, the butcher bowing in the cool air her absence has created, until he looks up to spy her visible and ready to see what horrors he can create. “I can catch you, darling, though it may not be in my more handsome form.” His shark tooth grin is aimed at her as he straightens up.
At first it’s subtle, the horns extending further, his shadows blurring together into tendrils akin to smoke trails but with thoughts attributed to where they bloom and grow. His smile grows wider, almost impossibly so, teeth sharpening and elongating into a shape that’s similar to the kind of jagged fangs a dragon might have. “There will be fire, but it cannot hurt you.” Unless he wills it to, he supposes, though he wouldn’t. Not on her.
His voice as he makes the change has dropped two octaves, a low baritone that sets an edge of discomfort and impossibility into the bones of those in his presence, and should Flora blink? Well, she’d miss the way his final form drapes over him like an old coat.
His horns are large, fiery, gnarled and hooked and impossibly sharp in a crown above his head, and rather than the striking and handsome face the butcher typically boasted, it’s been replaced with an equally fiery skeletal shape of a cross between a deer and a dog. Too sharp teeth surround an all white and orange mouth, like he’s burning from the inside out, and he extends, having grown a large amount in his size and height. His hands are sharp claws, obsidian that clicks against the floor and the table he’d been leaning against, tall enough that his horns screech against the top of the ceiling of this level as he evens himself out. His chest, appearing like an exposed ribcage with fire burning and cracking my beneath his ribs, expands like a mouth of its own.
He’s a bloody, fiery wendigo as his skull smiles at her wicked and sharp, the dark holes of his eyes boasting bright orange pinpricks for eyes. And he drifts a touch closer to her in a movement that has his shadows outstretching, faces blurring into them with equally wicked smiles and smirks, as if waiting for the show, stretching out toward Flora in an invitation. “What do you think?” That impossibly deep accented voice reappears, the man made dragon, deer, wolf watches her expectantly with that sharp edge of a predator in presence of prey.
And much to his quiet, thrilling surprise, she agrees.
His horns have stopped their extension for the moment, even as his shadows remain twitchy and excited with their anticipation of being let loose. But he releases her as she goes to move, tracking the shimmering form until he loses track of her again. Her warning is taken lightly, the butcher bowing in the cool air her absence has created, until he looks up to spy her visible and ready to see what horrors he can create. “I can catch you, darling, though it may not be in my more handsome form.” His shark tooth grin is aimed at her as he straightens up.
At first it’s subtle, the horns extending further, his shadows blurring together into tendrils akin to smoke trails but with thoughts attributed to where they bloom and grow. His smile grows wider, almost impossibly so, teeth sharpening and elongating into a shape that’s similar to the kind of jagged fangs a dragon might have. “There will be fire, but it cannot hurt you.” Unless he wills it to, he supposes, though he wouldn’t. Not on her.
His voice as he makes the change has dropped two octaves, a low baritone that sets an edge of discomfort and impossibility into the bones of those in his presence, and should Flora blink? Well, she’d miss the way his final form drapes over him like an old coat.
His horns are large, fiery, gnarled and hooked and impossibly sharp in a crown above his head, and rather than the striking and handsome face the butcher typically boasted, it’s been replaced with an equally fiery skeletal shape of a cross between a deer and a dog. Too sharp teeth surround an all white and orange mouth, like he’s burning from the inside out, and he extends, having grown a large amount in his size and height. His hands are sharp claws, obsidian that clicks against the floor and the table he’d been leaning against, tall enough that his horns screech against the top of the ceiling of this level as he evens himself out. His chest, appearing like an exposed ribcage with fire burning and cracking my beneath his ribs, expands like a mouth of its own.
He’s a bloody, fiery wendigo as his skull smiles at her wicked and sharp, the dark holes of his eyes boasting bright orange pinpricks for eyes. And he drifts a touch closer to her in a movement that has his shadows outstretching, faces blurring into them with equally wicked smiles and smirks, as if waiting for the show, stretching out toward Flora in an invitation. “What do you think?” That impossibly deep accented voice reappears, the man made dragon, deer, wolf watches her expectantly with that sharp edge of a predator in presence of prey.
Astaroth
// 'cause darling you're dragging me down //
