now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence
won't accept your silence
Snorting to her question and the playful spite that threads through Thalassa, the butcher decides it’s his turn to lean into her space and nudge her back with his elbow, his shark-tooth grin bright. “I was not certain if it would come up, truthfully. But it seems… Right, now. Which is why I am telling you now.” He explains, turning toward her while they walk and trail after the speaking squirrel that still thinks somehow it’s leading them toward a trap.
As for the ring, the butcher’s chest puffs out a little proudly. “It is being made. Custom design, of course.” She should expect nothing less from the creativity of the butcher’s mind. And with it, he flashes her a wink as his tail flicks contently behind him. “Gold with fire obsidian gemstones.” Gesturing with his free hand up to the antlers that spiral from his skull, the peeks of sun that filter through illuminate the otherwise black exterior with hues of a dark, fiery rainbow of greens, oranges, and yellow.
As for the ring, the butcher’s chest puffs out a little proudly. “It is being made. Custom design, of course.” She should expect nothing less from the creativity of the butcher’s mind. And with it, he flashes her a wink as his tail flicks contently behind him. “Gold with fire obsidian gemstones.” Gesturing with his free hand up to the antlers that spiral from his skull, the peeks of sun that filter through illuminate the otherwise black exterior with hues of a dark, fiery rainbow of greens, oranges, and yellow.
Astaroth
beg me for forgiveness
