i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
“I think, mm, the hard part was the healing, love.” He says quietly, finally taking these few moments to pull himself together, head lifting further so he can open his eyes without the world seeming to spin. It’s after he hears the pop of the cork, realizing it’s probably a strong pain killer dunked into the glass of brandy, but the butcher doesn’t shy away from it.
He gets his breathing under control — exhaling slowly and inhaling and on the inhale the shadows curl into him again, his voice losing the dissonance, face a touch pallid and clammy as he takes the glass and downs it with a wince he can’t hide from the burn of the brandy.
But its liquid courage enough to help him peel himself from the stool, getting his feet back under him and leaving the threaded cane in the same place it fell. Guided for perhaps the easiest time into the alcove amongst the plush pillows and blankets, closest as they can get to their den.
There’s only a few quiet grunts that leave him as he gets settled into the space. “Yes.” He murmurs hoarsely. “Everything was going fine until the last hit and the fucking thing blew up.” A staticky, dissonant growl leaves him toward the end before he takes a deep breath to relax any imaginary flat ears. “It is gone now, though.” He confirms, eyes opening to search for Danta as the drugs begin to work.
He gets his breathing under control — exhaling slowly and inhaling and on the inhale the shadows curl into him again, his voice losing the dissonance, face a touch pallid and clammy as he takes the glass and downs it with a wince he can’t hide from the burn of the brandy.
But its liquid courage enough to help him peel himself from the stool, getting his feet back under him and leaving the threaded cane in the same place it fell. Guided for perhaps the easiest time into the alcove amongst the plush pillows and blankets, closest as they can get to their den.
There’s only a few quiet grunts that leave him as he gets settled into the space. “Yes.” He murmurs hoarsely. “Everything was going fine until the last hit and the fucking thing blew up.” A staticky, dissonant growl leaves him toward the end before he takes a deep breath to relax any imaginary flat ears. “It is gone now, though.” He confirms, eyes opening to search for Danta as the drugs begin to work.
Astaroth
what was it like to feel in love?
