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,
The dramatic flare that blooms across his lover’s face sparks the low hum of a laugh from the butcher, his horned head inclining before he sighs wearily, like it was a point in time where the only fun to be had was specifically the tasks the gods and demigods had put together for them. “That masquerade was wonderful. I only wish I was a fraction less effected by the season to fully enjoy it.” He hadn’t been able to swan his way around the tables as much as he otherwise would have, lest he took a bite out of someone.
But there would always be the other seasons, right?
Their martinis arrive and the butcher’s thumb strokes along Danta’s hand in a gentle touch before he downs a sip of his martini, the chocolate a rich taste that would only be a precursor to the cake that’s inevitably arriving. “I do think it will urge us to go quickly, at least. It is a shame I still have not acquired a flighted shift to make it go faster.” His tone takes on a lilt of mourning before he shakes his head. “Perhaps I should take up those dragon riding lessons before our next excursion and you can take me home.” His nose wrinkles with the laugh that leaves him, warm and indulgent.
But there would always be the other seasons, right?
Their martinis arrive and the butcher’s thumb strokes along Danta’s hand in a gentle touch before he downs a sip of his martini, the chocolate a rich taste that would only be a precursor to the cake that’s inevitably arriving. “I do think it will urge us to go quickly, at least. It is a shame I still have not acquired a flighted shift to make it go faster.” His tone takes on a lilt of mourning before he shakes his head. “Perhaps I should take up those dragon riding lessons before our next excursion and you can take me home.” His nose wrinkles with the laugh that leaves him, warm and indulgent.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
