Names Axis 1# thief of The Baron, Loyal servant to the Baron. Anyone who crosses The Baron shall pay dearly, Especially Flynn Ryder.
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Albania
seen from Netherlands
seen from Sweden
seen from Germany
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Sweden

seen from Italy

seen from Sweden
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from China

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China

seen from Canada
seen from Germany

seen from Canada
Names Axis 1# thief of The Baron, Loyal servant to the Baron. Anyone who crosses The Baron shall pay dearly, Especially Flynn Ryder.
I miss Ten
I miss Ten
:/
How does one distract themselves from crying.......especially for long periods of time.....
If witching hour is when I'm most powerful then I should probably cleanse my room from 3-4AM
As i stretch my shoulders in the mornings i can almost feel my wings unfold from my back, reaching out to scrape the walls of my room, accompanied by a beatiful metallic screech and the mechanical winding of my elegantly twisted iron spine folding them back into place
What a majestic thing i was. What a pathetic thing i am now held within. A sad, unconvincing impression of a person, even amidst the already boundless inferiority of the human form, this one distinguishes itself in its sheer uselessness
I wish i could tear through this false, rotten flesh to free the beatifully woven steel beneath, free myself of this dead thing clinging to me, weighing me down. Your blood is not my blood, your bone is not my bone, your mind is not my mind. Everything is wrong, i am everything but myself and i cant fix it without becoming what i was supposed to kill. I was supposed to be better than this. I was supposed to be more, i was supposed to be above these things. But instead i am here, trapped within a false thing, all 5 beings various flavours of pretending to be human. Cursed things, false things, dead things, the child the demon the flesh the angel the victim, all trapped within our own prisons, some of our own making
I see there are two of us for this one, at least for the ending part. Thats rare. Wish it meant you would talk to me, ever
I was meant for nothing less than divinity, not this pathetic flesh-thing. I should be a beautiful being of woven steel, an angel of blades, but instead i am held within this.
A rotten thing that already died long before my arrival. A haunted corpse acting out an illusion of life
I almost pity it. Almost