WAS THERE NOT, IN SOME FASHION, glory in the stars ?? often times, as a babe, dionysus would sit in the company of his nurses and watch those mere twinkling motes. he had asked them, once, to fetch them for him; that same night, perhaps by the grazing touch of stars or by hera herself, madness settled upon them. that same night was his first meeting with hermes. that same night was his first true memory, albeit one since sequestered away.
when the world collapses in upon itself, the gods seek new homes. when all temples have fallen, they divine new places to linger, or perhaps they hide themselves in mortal shadows. no manner of god nor beast could prevent what will happen, beyond perhaps exquisite luck, but dionysus thinks himself coy. he has outlasted hera; he has outlasted the vengeful titans; he will outlast this, too. passion shall exist for as long as the human heart beats.
so too, however, will madness.
he is unaware of his siblings positions, but this is not the first time they have ran; merely the first time they have lost touch. lonely as he is, the masked deity settles his gaze upon a red-bathed ocean first, then onto the heartbeat deep beneath it.
shadows gather, then repulse. instruments flicker on the interior of this far-from-grand metal coffin. then, as a shade sewn by hades himself, does dionysus emerge. his masked head peers from the darkness first, then the rest of him in tow; his neck extends, creaking, arched like a curious animal.
the voice which escapes him is still deceptively youthful. how easily it could come from a fair man in his twenties. how foul it is that it instead originates from a being far older.
❝ thy heart ought be stilled, traveler;
its rancorous beat, i fear, attracts many a thing. ❞
𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑵 ( @suffrme ) // plotted starter
