' Hardly has the universe stretched its wings to span '
Veer wonders what it is that makes each of the stranger's words coagulate in the air like blood and spoiled wine. Her wonders if it is a curse of plain bay horses with antlers on their heads to stand in a copse of trees and spew blood like rotten, oiled religion. Once again he's grateful for his wings and gold and his violence.
He is glad that he is a man to chew up worlds instead of ponder the meaning of them. There is blood rushing between his skin, fire between his flesh and fury beating a steady war-drum in his heart. Veer has all the things he needs.
Never is he bored, for each drink tastes a little different and each inch of flesh has to is a different musk to age on his tongue.
And oh! If he knew that death kept itself a secret from the stranger and that the reaper was nothing more than another drug to slow. If he knew he would have happily spread his wings to span the entire forest. Veer would have anointed the stranger in the religion of him
Instead he only watches him with a strange gaze that smolders and burns and looks a little heavy with pity. “If you found it boring you do not know how to live.” Veer lets his lips seem crueler and for a moment he could be a sun that's as frozen as a winter solstice moon. Even the hallucinogen running through is blood like acid can barely stem the brightness of how well 'he' knows how to live.
“I could teach you,” He says and it's wicked the way that his words don't coagulate like blood. Each of his syllables hangs between them like small suns-- hot, hot, hot. “If you're brave enough.” When he smiles he wonders if the spaces between look like plants or if they look like small, dark universes born of Veer.
And something in his gaze suggests that life isn't a game at all. Because if it is he has already won.
@Lysander
