TRANSFORM.

                                            ‘ I am. ’           –So tersely vows the flapping labium, his midnight swathed digits curls ‘round the girth of the bottle’s neck. Utterances now need no lies to seek a perching upon a titular sorrow-devised smile, for that bright days seen brighter ( though abyss still dwells, harboring private demons ).  His summer kissed smile is  less foretold by self-condemned burdens – that he now shifts to a right foot, weightless, && his head dips westward in its own subconscious mirth scheming.             ‘ You do too, in fact.                 Was the wine to your liking ? I don’t drink so – I couldn’t tell. ’

             ruby gaze rests almost LISTLESSLY on the blonde's mako-coloured eyes, searching the power-infused blues for some sort of an answer to his newfound happiness. it wasn't as if grief and loss were so easily FORGOTTEN. cloud was not the type to simply 'get over' something, so to speak, and so the ex-turk had to wonder if his mind had simply become ephemerally preoccupied with a suitable replacement.

魔術 —— Monster? No. But he would be fool to think that one does not lurk within her; ever present and awaiting her command. It is a curse she has brought upon herself, but one she took willingly for the protection of another.

It is almost like looking at someone who could have been a relative, and just for the briefest moment, she is reminded of her father. Dark hair, crimson eyes and the warmest of smiles –yet she cannot recall any other detail of his face, just a blurred image that fades more and more with the passage of time.

She cants her head, expression stoic, unreadable.

❝It is just a name… and I have yet to receive yours.❞

              ❝ ...Vincent Valentine. ❞  usually people had to remark on how comical his name sounded. like a love-struck FOOL from some backwards romance novel hidden in a bedside drawer. he'd heard it all in his younger days, of course. there wasn't a Turk alive back then that didn't know exactly how to get on his nerves. colleagues. friends. ( of course. they were no more. )

        there is a sad SILENCE in how he gazes, studying she who might've looked so much like HIM. less ghastly, not at all a monster, but pallid like the moon with eyes of a dulled crimson. they did not glow like his, and he was certain they hid no creatures of a dark ascension. 

         his voice rumbles in its usual rasp, still UNUSED when he can help it. but company does not come along often-- especially not which could prove useful in the realm of information.