a king walks among us
El Rey is running.
His head, very suddenly, is in high demand.
Resolved as he'd been to die mere minutes ago, he is now more intent than ever on living. Screams and teeth and swords and hooves chase him, the crowd finally surging like a wave, as he'd imagined, foam pink with blood and waters red. When Juniper's cheek brushes against his, he almost gores her, until he sees - no, smells - his dove. Swampwater and daydreams. Into a shadowed alcove they go, hidden from the Solterran bloodlust, at least momentarily.
He is not happy to see her. What he feels - is dread. And even more than that - fear.
"Juniper, you - you - why are you here? You have to go! They will kill you." He hisses this into her ear, face pressed against her, chest heaving. The touch of her skin against his is all he wants, in eternity. But now is not when such eternity begins, and he thinks now that it might never begin at all.
@
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
