FILTHY . FILTHY . FILTHY . the rancid odor overcomes each of his senses , gnaws through his lungs like acid --- subjugetes the sycamore trees of neurons until all they know is the alarming screech of incoming danger . it feels as if it was polluting him inch by inch , strewing dross and squalor across the perimeters of his skin : this smell , this sight . in front of him stands a festering wound embodied . with a languid demeanor , albeit faux , he brings his hands together and lets his lithe fingers grab the edge of his glove , seemingly to fasten it . at last , he speaks , his voice tranquil .
❛ who are you and how did you get here , of all places ? ❜
@psychegore . *