Raw Lines From The Internet | Accepting!
@nights-fear sent: “Decay exists as an extant form of life.” — from Stefano
Stefano is an artist. There is no denying how very well he carries himself---the cut of his suits, the charm in his wit, the way he so effortlessly engages his audience. Kuja, too, is an artist, those same traits altogether his strong points as well. He would share poetry and prose of passion and desire, of pain and doubt---throngs of devotees reveling in the awe of his magnificent talent when playing his harp, or his piano, or violin with poise and grace. Beautiful and vibrant works---delicacy in a vivid, emotional structure. His way of attempting to grasp just what it meant to experience all those odd, yet enthralling, feelings.
But, for the longest time, he simply could not wrap his mind about this obsession his companion had with the concepts of death, decay, and destruction. How morbid and vulgar, he would think, gazing upon framed photograph after photograph of horror and gore---vanitases of varying degrees of grotesqueness. This eager embrace of death, which Kuja himself had always found nonsensical and, at times, terrifying. Of course, he still attended such presentations with open eagerness, dreadfully fascinated---
And, at last, he is beginning to understand.
Beginning to understand that vulgar, brutal contrast---the Life within Libido and the Death within Thanatos, hand in hand, making love with a fervency and urgency that borders on madness. Kuja the former---Stefano the latter.
And, here, within the confines of Stefano’s private studio, he witnesses such a union now: how decay stems from life---microscopic organisms, eating away at the flesh, the maggots that will swell in number within the torso, bursting forth into flies. Multiplying and multiplying, and if it had been left to the wilds, devoured by other creatures. They gnaw at the bones and flesh, hungry and desperate and desirous to live---live, and continue on, thus multiplying as well.
The dead serving the living---just as the living will one day serve the dead.
A hand slips around Stefano’s waist slyly as he gazes upon the marred corpse---his head resting against a shoulder, breathing in that disgusting stench. He will never enjoy it---but if he is with Stefano, he will tolerate it.
“While I do so enjoy you sharing your brilliant works with me, I do find myself strangely famished, my darling,” he coos, eventually. Then, leaning away, his azure eyes turning pointedly toward his companion, they sparkle with that telltale mischievous gleam as he grabs insistently at a gloved hand. “Lead me away for now---I wish to offer you something far more delectable than what this cadaver would ever have to offer.”
