[SWE] Festival of Lights - 319PC

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

With the season very obviously coming to a close, especially with the added boon of the Festival of Lights — it’s clear Astaroth’s feeling it a bit more than normal. Whatever normal seems to be this time of year for him, at least. So it leaves him a bit more on edge, silently grateful for the quiet boon of Dantalion at his side so he doesn’t have to worry about it, though it keeps his jaw set tight as he feels the chill sweep in. Without the trees of the Greatwood to block the wind chill, Mourn is far more open and with it, the gusts a bit cooler than he otherwise had expected.

“Why not both, darling?” He asks, leaning in to press a soft and affectionate nuzzle to his lover’s temple before he’s scanning the table of food and drinks from their distance, already guiding their feet to step toward it. He’d be happy to corral a cider and a few of those marvelous taffies and retreat under the gnarled tree in the back. And maybe with enough luck he’d be able to snarl his way into getting everyone to move away from them. “Fill our arms with treasures from the table in lieu of lanterns and lurk beneath the tree and make our own stories up of everyone?” He muses with a small smirk, spying the taffy as they approach the table with obvious delight.

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Asta brings no lantern!

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //