vengeful reckoning.

[Blaaze]

the bronze knight.

[closed, requested entry only.

Love is a temple. Love is a fickle thing. Love has run dry and he holds a claw at the soft flesh of his dream's throat. He waits, waits. He wants to see fear. He wants to see blood. He is restless. He needs to see there is justice in this world. So he waits. Then he speaks. "You will die beneath the mercy of those who have suffered beneath you." He has not spoken for some time. It comes out deep, throaty. He forgot what his voice sounded like outside of his skull. "And I will smile. Stars, won't I smile." His tone is sharp, deathly, as he wishes he could lash his tail if only it wasn't so short, and his primarily-white pelt glints in the moonlight he wish would give him dark shadows to reflect the fate of the one he imagined. Then he released the fraudish throat from his grasp. It was not real. IT was a LIE. He wanted to live. He wanted to avenge. He wanted to serve. To correct the wrongs. A silly dream. But that was what he was now. A fever dream.

ha.

perhaps...

perhaps one day...

he would.

home.

return to his home.

and it.

would be.

beautiful.