so take your seats, your salutations, and your turn. (closed, Steve)
The Theatre of Calliope is a beautiful sight, set against the dying sunset of the island. A few rays still peek out over the horizon, hitting the floating castle of purple crystal whose shadow looms over the hillside. The column of shadow beneath it still pulses a disconcertingly organic rhythm.
In that shadow, sitting amongst the empty seats by his lonesome is one mister The Nightmare Knight, still thinking from his arrival but with a conviction he hadn’t felt in millenia. His mind was connecting events from his own life, his attempts in that fallen city and this island, and his latest romp as a relatively fresh perspective, without the weight of the events of the 100th resurrection upon his shoulders. It gave him much to consider about his behavior and the ruts he dragged himself into.
Much to think about, but he was good at thinking, sometimes.
Some grass moved behind him, but it was enough to take his attention away. It sounded off in the way that one would notice if it was grass moving in the way it shouldn’t.
But... something told him not to turn around. Not yet, at least.
“Approach me, if you wish. I care not for fighting anyone right now.”
