❛ From crowns, to halos, to horns. ❜ / crownheads uwu
It’s awfully poetic, succinct. One can imagine untouched heads becoming illuminated by pure light, cathedral holy and candle worshipped. Gossamer strands of silken motes falling from divine touched countenances. Ethereal. Timeless. How many tears would be shed in their name ?
Only for it to fracture, slowly, painfully. Chips spider along lumination with blackened rot, dragging their unholy hands to the zenith. Stopping for a butterflies breath, one bittersweet moment of exhilaration, before charred hands pull it asunder. The rise, the flight, the fall. Icarus’ wings melting beneath the punishing rays. Featherdown no match for the rising, consuming tide.
‘ so the story of ascension goes. ‘ the demon answers wryly, curling his voice around his words in a way his plated face cannot convey. Val heaves a timeworn sigh, raspy and endless. An echo in a wailing cavern, all the yester years stirring restlessly beneath his nightmare hued skin. ‘ rather tragic, when you think about it.’
