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❝You set me up, you little shit. & when everyone else is gone, I'm going to kill you. S l o w l y.❞

#ashkxtchum #| v : undetermined |#{ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ }#[ idk what he did love me kevkev ]#queued: starter

❝You're kidding. Please tell me you're kidding.❞

#cursedthisway #| v : undetermined |#{ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ }#[ heLLO LOVELY ]#queued: starter #[ 5/25 ]

{ anastasisms }

He had to fly so carefully through this wasteland which once encompassed his own realm. Humanity had named this oblast Sverdlovsk and now, the Deathless flitted far above the damp ground - the far-reaching outskirts of the city Ekaterinburg. Even in summer, it smelled of pity and despair, of longing and of fear -- but these smells, these wafting auras, had a certain bitter taste which swirled about his adopted tongue then tugged at the collective in his skull ;; so much so, in fact, that the Tsar of life could not ignore them. He should not travel so liberally - 1918 is, and is meant to be, a bad year. But this pull, this unbearable longing, sent out such waves that, were he not to face them head on, they would surely drive him mad. And so he beat his wings harder, blacker than the sky, blacker than the river below, dotted with an infinity of stars.

He touched down, the span of his wings now longer, now arms ;; his great beak curled and twisted into a line -- a strong line -- that of a soldier's gristled jaw. And the Deathless knew this house, he knew its name, but what of a name ? He was privy to its inhabitants now, the cool of the summer wind bringing remnants of their songs and speech and cries ...

He was pulled by the Grand Duchess, Anastasiya Nikolayevna Romanova; it was her heart which fluttered -- just beyond the door. His own hollowness felt painful against the reality of depth to her soul; how young it was, how pure and how full ...

And so the Deathless, now visibly a man, whose bones had become feathers had become flesh, wore new attire. T'was black and fur-ridden, spreading across a chest which retained a chosen broadness, and bedecked with medals from far off, long forgotten wars. So the man, who was not a man at all, approached the little used entrance ;; and knocked.

#anastasisms #queued: starter