dancing after death

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

She continues to massage the top of his neck, along his ears, her fingers applying enough of a pressure that he sighs lightly, her comment managing to spark a slight half smile on his face for a half second. “VlamVloed.” He rumbles to her, accented in his native tongue. That was the name, that was what he wanted to call it, regardless if the flame wasn’t coming back. But it would be a combination of everything, places for people to stay, places for remembering. The rebellion tavern had been much like that in a sense. They’d just taken it here.

But the smile fades as she nods, commenting about her children so quietly that he reaches up with a hand to rest along her cheek, his thumb rubbing against her cheekbone briefly, steel eyes trying to scan her face in the dark. “Well, one was mine too.” He says equally as quietly, removing his hand back to his side before he explains where he’s been staying. A lie, but a good enough one that she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she comments on inheritance and he snorts to that. “No. Nobody was using his house though, and it’s a fairly nice one all things considered.” He admits. “Just taking advantage of what’s already there.”

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth