when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream
Danta doesn't move as Asta slip-slides to his feet, though he does let the cane roll from his nerve damaged fingers and across the bloody stone. By the time the door opens and the evening light spills in onto them, however briefly, everything is clean, quiet, reset. No shards of glass littering the floor, no blood soaking into the flagstones, no torn flesh or singed fabric or stink of iron hanging in the air. It's just the two of them again, as if the past few minutes had never happened.
"No." The admission is freely given to the butcher in a way it would never be for anyone else. Danta swallows hard and rolls onto his side on the cool stone, curling into himself as if continuing to follow some old, post-fight ritual despite it being all over. His cheeks are wet but he doesn't remember starting to cry, his tail coiling tightly around one of his legs. "Sorry." For not keeping it together during their fight and for not bouncing back now, for the pain and the blood, for enjoying it while it was happening.
"No." The admission is freely given to the butcher in a way it would never be for anyone else. Danta swallows hard and rolls onto his side on the cool stone, curling into himself as if continuing to follow some old, post-fight ritual despite it being all over. His cheeks are wet but he doesn't remember starting to cry, his tail coiling tightly around one of his legs. "Sorry." For not keeping it together during their fight and for not bouncing back now, for the pain and the blood, for enjoying it while it was happening.
The Maverick
you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
