L O T H A I R E
For a long time there had been nothing, or so he had been told, and then quite suddenly there was everything. Denocte had lain dormant for what seemed like an age following the abdication of their obsidian monarch, not that Lothaire had minded; one could learn a great deal during quiet chaos, and learn he had. Eyes the colour of slicked oil had studied each character cast in this bizarre, redundant play until he felt confident enough that he could name each piece in the collection. He viewed the celebrations impassively, his gaze awash with cool curiosity. Reichenbach, Sovereign of Night Court. Lothaire flushed air from his nostrils, the sound reverberating into the air as he tilted his earless head back. Yes, this wild-eyed man made of patchwork dreams and smoke may just be what the realm of Denocte needed. And there Reichenbach stood, bold and brash as ever. Lothaire rolled his great shoulders as he took three steps closer to their newly crowned king, his stare but a string of dull black pearls whilst his lips peeled back to allow such an insipid barely audible whisper to fall from his serpentine tongue... "Long live the King" |
