the streets are all violent with murderous excitement
Danta had said to take a look at the bonfire he’d created. And truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to witness it with the Maverick sitting there slamming him with complaint after complaint. So he’d wandered here on his own – still just as impeccably put together, cane and boots clicking across the stone floor as he arrives to the crackling, glimmering bonfire with gemstones within that sprinkle the surrounding area with hues of other colors, not unlike a stained glass mural. It's a warm, glowing cascade of oranges and reds and yellows, at odds with the gloomy overcast day, casting dull shadows around the area.
Internally, he admits it’s beautiful in the face of the greyed out world around it. Externally, his face is unchanged as he drifts a bit closer, craving its warmth. A sleeve is pushed up, cane shifting to his other hand, the reflection of the flame flickering against his attire and changing the hue of his horns to reflect that rainbow, oil like effect. His tail curls contently behind him, and he lets his fingertips press into the licking flames, humming a light sound to himself as it curls around each of his fingertips, feeling closer to Dygra as he could be right this second.
Internally, he admits it’s beautiful in the face of the greyed out world around it. Externally, his face is unchanged as he drifts a bit closer, craving its warmth. A sleeve is pushed up, cane shifting to his other hand, the reflection of the flame flickering against his attire and changing the hue of his horns to reflect that rainbow, oil like effect. His tail curls contently behind him, and he lets his fingertips press into the licking flames, humming a light sound to himself as it curls around each of his fingertips, feeling closer to Dygra as he could be right this second.
Astaroth
the hunter and the prey are dancing every day
