Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Her green is poison, as fatal as the smile that curls her lips. Her red is the blood smeared across a fed monster’s lips. Her eyes are glaciers sharp as knives, reaching for the sky.
Raum drinks in every inch of Targwyn, there is no part of her he will leave unchecked. To not know this creature is to let insanity slip in unguarded. Raum had heard the whispers, the tongues and lips that tell of his own madness - a madness for power, a madness for his deeds. He is a madman and they name him so with fervent voices and hungry eyes. Yet when he beholds this girl, this creature of a madness more plain and obvious than his supposed own, the Ghost wonders how he could ever be mad at all.
But mad they name him and so mad he shall be.
His electric gaze does not flicker as she makes her bold statements with that poison smile drip, drip, dripping her madness upon the earth at his feet. He does not smile in answer to hers. He remains unmoved, unswayed, yet imagines himself if madness is like gravity, warming himself in a bottomless grave, the red of lava rising up to meet him. How deep could one fall?
“If you are so mad, then tell me why I should not kill you here and now. Madness is a liability I have no time for.” Each word is lead, each words is sharp. They descend as shrapnel and bullets and Raum has no care for the wounds they might inflict. Beside him, Legion rises, that great skull and its sharpened beak parting as strings of poison link between its terrible fangs. “Make yourself of use to me and you might keep yourself from a bottomless grave where gravity may pull you where it wishes.”
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![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan
