Jun 1
(Annatar) i used to be delicate. i was delightful. i was a goddamn flower! i smelled like roses and the sunshine shone out of my ass.
Ranyasúre was not sure at which point the entity — Gorthaur, she heard him called, but here, all facts and thoughts jumbled together like grains of rice tossed into sand— had begun conversing with his subject. Disembodied, she had accepted herself as the subject. But he had.
Apparently some loveliness that he had once possessed, was now forsaken. Humorless and sedated, she squinted once again into the lights.
“Your ass?”