I am...all of me.

His eyes are the color of blue steel — often too cold to warm, but their gaze is mind-sobering to others like a spring of arctic water. It’s never pleasant to feel this gaze, it’s always too piercing and merciless in its shine, but Shifu is not judgemental: after all, he is not the one to determine anyone’s fate. Not anymore.

                          Something terrible… to only save the world.

                 ❝ Hmm… you certainly are a resolute type. Yet I wonder where does it all come from ? ❞ he notes and his eyes lit up with the mildest curiousity. The world is not always grateful. More often it’s just indifferent and therefore it destroys human presumptions so naturally, driving mortals crazy. None of them can take this world under their control, neither seize its fathomless grandeur, nor grasp its enigmatic concept. People were only able to correct the flow of things following their own ideas of what is good and bad. And in this perspective what did it actually mean to save the world? Did people even know what the world actually was? Or were they just defending their vision of it?

                         ❝ Because that seems like an honest answer to me. ❞

                                   What was the vision of Shadow?

❝ Choices, ❞ Shifu amends rather gloomily and nods heavily, with the sense of fatality, ❝ I’ve made a lot of choices, some of which I am not proud of. But my people respect me regardless, because they know I will take the responsibility whenever I have to. They know I chose to live for it. And that’s enough. ❞

There’s a certain exhaustion in always having to keep up a wall. Every conversation, every action reinforced brick by brick, each piece adding to the shield. In Shadow’s case, it may as well have rivaled the Great Wall itself. But Shifu’s curiosity wouldn’t be getting a straight answer anytime soon. Not when mortar had plugged all the crevices and holes, nary leaving space for light to enter...or perhaps, for darkness to escape.

Still, there’s some comfort to be found here. It would do.

“I was hoping to hear your opinion from an outside perspective. If you really don’t know who I am, then I’d prefer it stay that way.”

He could leave here today and feel safe in asking questions that he would only be able to poise to a stranger. Not that it mattered much. He had no one to confide in. It’s only when the pang hits his chest that he reconsiders the intrusive thought, but now wasn’t the time to dawdle. 

You know what? I promised myself to not comment on ooc issues, and it really turns my stomach to do so, but this in particular really strikes a nerve. I’m not going to join this conversation, but rather make my point for peace of mind and then turn anon off for the foreseeable future.

Bold all of the themes that apply to your muse’s aesthetic or mood as a character. 

Italics - AU/verse depended

Bloodied knuckles | Tear stained cheeks | Rust | A busted lip | Claws | Fangs | A bloody nose | Chattering teeth | A dark space underneath the bed | Scratching noises on a wall | Creaking metal | Fog | Dancing under moonlight | Blood dripping lips | Heavy breathing in the dark | A feeling of unexplained dread | A figure in a dark corner|  Dirty peeling wallpaper | A bloody handprint on the wall | Sobbing in the dark | Bite marks on the skin | Eerie whispers | A hood covering a stranger’s eyes | The growl of a hidden animal | The sound of a blade being sharpened | A deep, dark forest | Walking on the streets alone at night | A cobweb-filled, abandoned building | Eyes darting in paranoia | A heavy beating pulse | The feeling of being trapped | Struggling to get out a scream | Boards covering broken windows |A quiet graveyard

A gas station in the middle of nowhere | A road that never ends | Heavy fog rolling in | The scent of blood in the air | Eerie old photographs | Walking along traintracks at night | A chill going up the spine | Gathering crows| A dusty, dimly lit study | Mist over a deserted cobblestone street | Ghost towns | Shadows around a campfire | The sound of chanting | Church bells tolling | An orange harvest moon | A broken down carnival | A dirty stuffed animal abandoned | Wiping bloody hands on fabric | Nightmares | Waking up in a panic | A power outage | Heavy lightning storms | A secret trap door| The feeling of being watched | Fear from trauma

A Ouija board set out on a table | An eerie doll | A scream of anguish and pain | Withered plants | A room that’s been forgotten and gathered dust  | Owl eyes in the dark| Curled, dead tree branches| A ritual altar | Flickering candles | A lantern held up in the dark | Fear of being followed | Creaking floorboards | Repressed, horrible memories | Clenched teeth | Soft, echoing piano keys |An old book covered in dust | Many pairs of glaring eyes | Stumbling in pitch black darkness| Being stranded in the middle of nowhere | Tarot cards on a table | A trail of blood

BONUS:

Old Creepy Monkey Playing Cymbals Music Box | Chandeliers | Masks | Roses | Cape Game On Fleek | Seriously Good Masque of the Red Death Cosplay | Did I Mention Candles?

Music sounds from his device to echo around the room; his foot still tapping to the gentle rhythm in a sleepy haze.