quiet · dual personality · music lover · demigod · fantasy · drunk mess · warrior
Sixty thousand souls taken. The slaughter is ritual now; severed heads drop like overripe fruit, blood’s metallic bite inseparable from storm-soaked air. I stand in the aftermath, a pawn in a grand design, questioning what shreds of humanity cling to me. I am a blade, honed and lethal, yet melody remains my tether to feeling—a solace slowly stolen by godhood. Tears I thought long dried well in my eyes as I play, the roaring ocean my only witness to this decaying heart. Drink and song are my masks, gateways to the crimson blood still coursing beneath my skin, defying the soulless gold of divinity. Yet light pierces deepest dark. You stand on the cliff’s edge, my sole confidant, a nymph of Mnestia with a soul untouched by war. You understand the weight I carry, offering something like…