the wounds are open and bleeding out
Ronin doesn't think he's ever heard Remi call him by the moniker the world has bestowed on him, and it sends a shudder running up the length of his spine. His hands return to Remi's thighs, squeezing him closer even as he kisses away the blood he's drawn with bruising force. Burn he does, the fractured light within him needing very little to detonate entirely, and the world fills with blinding, white heat. Nothing is safe save for the man in his arms, and dust and ruin remain where once a broken temple stood.
"I hate this place," he mutters when he has sense enough to speak, his forehead resting against Remi's, his voice little more than a quiet growl. "The Grounds, I mean. I'd tear it off the world, if I could." Too much pain lays in wait in the Hollowed Grounds, from failed kingships to dead daughters to blights and spires and long nights and burning guildhouses.
"I hate this place," he mutters when he has sense enough to speak, his forehead resting against Remi's, his voice little more than a quiet growl. "The Grounds, I mean. I'd tear it off the world, if I could." Too much pain lays in wait in the Hollowed Grounds, from failed kingships to dead daughters to blights and spires and long nights and burning guildhouses.
THE
DARK STAR
