he romances the darkness, a lover to the void. he destroys everything he touches, and knows it well doth he. a disease like him is something insidious, something lethal, and above all, incurable. and yet, lovable. somehow. apparently. and lord knows he does try, to be : pleasant. something he can only mimic / a learned beahviour.
even now, he struggles to understand, to relearn what it means to be : human. he hasn’t the ability to acknowledge why he does this. some times he wonders, is it for them ? what has he to gain by being this way ? a holy distraction, at the very least. could it be that this heart has a pulse after all ? he dreads to think so.
he was an angel, whose screams are silent, whose wings felt like stone. meets someone, whose heart is made of concentrated sunshine, whose halo burns brighter that the largest star. they were glass, reinforced, and he was shattered. a man who lost all purpose, a king with no crown, smoke and decay left in his wake. but he was happier with them, and he shall take his secret to the grave.
“ it is time for bed, frisk. ” the words that roll softly from the tongue of a viper, only to be met with disagreement by the younger before him, much to his displeasure. “ ... what would you like to do before bed ? ” hand that reaches forward and gently takes the remote to the television idly presenting some sort of cartoon that the both of them had been watching. it is turned off.
( @sparemercy doesn’t want to sleep just yet.
