[P] bells of death shall ring .

[El Rey]

a king walks among us

He does not hear her approach over the roaring waves, nor does he smell her on the wind. There is only the creeping feeling of dread, and her voice.

“This is not your home.”

The black beast turns. She smells of Dawn, of the forest, of the leaves and the water and the birds. Somewhere underneath he smells rot, and agony, or senses it - what is the smell of agony, he wonders, but he is more acquainted with it than he thinks in this moment - and the creeping thing at her side is that, creeping, rot, agony. Death. 

“No,” he says. “It is not.”

He wonders if she knows him.

El Rey looks to the river and speaks. ”I came to hear the water.” He looks again to her. He sees hunger; it spills from her sinews like blood or tar. Blood and tar. He does not have to ask if she would like to kill him. Sometimes he thinks he ought to die. He searches for death every time he ventures out, going somewhere he should not, where he might be known, apprehended, executed. There is a light in his life and he would never extinguish it. But he dampens her, he must, that is his way. She would be better off without him. It is his neck that should be cleaved in two, his lungs that should fill with the river water. His stare is unwavering. He says, ”You know its violence, too.”

@Thana

”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“

I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,