a king walks among us
Curiosity drips from him like sap from a wounded tree. His ears do not twitch, his gaze does not falter from his vacancy. It oozes black as him and remains invisible, but one might see some gloss in the light. He is listening.
He almost killed me.
His eyes slither over to watch Lysander reach nose to dagger, and he wonders briefly if things have gone that way again. Naively he had thought he would not have to kill - but there is no violence in the braids of night-bronze muscle before him. Perhaps gore will not paint the road. Perhaps it will. Something simmers beneath the flesh of this man, something else, something worth seeing. But he can’t quite tell what it is.
”Do you seek him, then, knowing that he may destroy you?” Fair odds or not.
@Lysander
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
