like’d from x ;
@shysweet-hellhound
“Thou seems bereft, my Queen,” comes Roland, as his voice is shaped and sculpted as the human throat from the face of a fully-formed head of a male mountain Elk. Gold tinsel swells and sways gently from the broad points of his antlers, all capped and swirled in painted gold, and doth the swipe of green, and, yea, gold, and sheaves of brown art artistically painted ‘round the enlarged parts of his Elk’s eyes; all incredibly molded, and dusted with inhuman glitter against his skin.
From the neck down doth Roland remain the Human: clothed in silk and intricately-sewn brocade with the matching colors, and e’en borne in gold-heeled shoes of the softest fabric, perfect for dancing. But e’en as the Elk, e’en as Formed the elongated face of the dark-brown muzzle doth Roland drawn the look of concern, and amiability upon his features. “Art thou unhappy?” queries he.
