It had never been easy to understand ‘humans’, as they had taken to being called. The fragile little beings breathed into existence by his father’s own will, who bled red rather than gold, and had aching limbs instead of perfect forms. They were strange in and of themselves; Why would they age so quickly, springing from stage of life to stage of life ?? What had drawn them to become so foolish and naive in regards to the rest of the world, if not his parent’s own lunacy ( A joke, for his father had fostered the moon as one of his favored spawns ) ?? His gaze would settle upon an unusual figure, although Entoa himself had difficult discerning normal from extraordinary when it came to the mortal composition. Hands folded across his chest, ears flattened and teeth bared, the god would speak -
❝ You there, mortal, what are you doing ?? ❞
@falsekept / starter call.