@animaflandria said , I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.
years after the great war , circa 1930s .
WHAT IS A GHOST ? HE IS ! dying and coming back had given him considerable perspective ; a bullet wound from the dreaded summer of 1918 hides just beneath his military hat , of which a gloved hand casually traces the edges from where his head leans against his arm . deafening silence follows her words . was that not the nature of nationhood ? he thinks she ought to have adapted to the grotesque by now . what was a nation if not a cemetery ? the shrug he gives her is drowned in leisure , the lethargy nipping at his tendons ever so present ; he supposes it might have come across as more insensitive than he had intended . ❛ it suits you . ❜
it gnaws at his heart , bitter nostalgia for the great empire he had been . he’s come to miss the days she’d spent with him in russia , at the alexander palace of saint petursburg ; he realizes he misses her snark , and he aches for his own . somewhere along the way , ivan knows he had lost the strength that had once radiated from his being , leaving the other european powers quaking ‘neath his boots . what was he now ? a kicked dog , tucked away in its shunned corner . as he arches his back , he leans further into the uncomfortable wooden chair , throwing his head back , a pointed look displayed across his features . there’s humour dripping from his tone , dry as it may be . ❛ i would say war is a good look on you . a reminder of the past you’ve lived through . would you not agree ? ❜
DEATHLESS . ———— not accepting .
