i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
The shadows continue to fall away, slowly like he subconsciously clings to the portions of himself that could keep his weaknesses hidden. Piece after piece sloughing off into the mix of real shadow from the Dusklight, the butcher slowly shedding his blackened cocoon of horrors to reveal even more. He tracks him slowly, sluggishly, even when the heat of Danta’s hands cup his face and offer a bit of warmth to shock through his system after so long of being so cold.
He'll feel how tense his jaw is when his teeth clench, the muscles feathering in his jaw, the slow inhale of a breath that he holds. “I wanted to see you, darling.” He says, flashing a smile that doesn’t reflect in his dark gaze, glassy and dazed and not entirely there. He hears the plan in motion, doesn’t even really see that way that the bartender slips away to retrieve someone, instead he merely tilts his head into Danta’s cradled hands as if he’s being forgiven – like the destruction wrought upon his body was nothing more than a confession and here he was finally finding relief.
His mangled arm sits limply in his lap, the other grey and wet as it holds onto his wrist, the cloths tying off the wounds in three separate places are soaking wet with rain and scarlet that makes it appear as if he’s harboring more wounds than just the three he’s tried to close. His tail wraps around the leg of the barstool for additional balance as he finds a bit more fight in him to lift his head and take a slow, methodical deep breath – eyes shutting tight for a few long moments. “This shirt is.. mm, ruined.” He admits, as if an indicator that if Danta wished to burn it off of him, he wouldn’t complain.
If anything, it might make it easier.
He'll feel how tense his jaw is when his teeth clench, the muscles feathering in his jaw, the slow inhale of a breath that he holds. “I wanted to see you, darling.” He says, flashing a smile that doesn’t reflect in his dark gaze, glassy and dazed and not entirely there. He hears the plan in motion, doesn’t even really see that way that the bartender slips away to retrieve someone, instead he merely tilts his head into Danta’s cradled hands as if he’s being forgiven – like the destruction wrought upon his body was nothing more than a confession and here he was finally finding relief.
His mangled arm sits limply in his lap, the other grey and wet as it holds onto his wrist, the cloths tying off the wounds in three separate places are soaking wet with rain and scarlet that makes it appear as if he’s harboring more wounds than just the three he’s tried to close. His tail wraps around the leg of the barstool for additional balance as he finds a bit more fight in him to lift his head and take a slow, methodical deep breath – eyes shutting tight for a few long moments. “This shirt is.. mm, ruined.” He admits, as if an indicator that if Danta wished to burn it off of him, he wouldn’t complain.
If anything, it might make it easier.
Astaroth
what was it like to feel in love?
