#ensiign

Send "Zzz" to hear my character mumble something about yours in their sleep.

          He was lost in painful reminiscence.

          The breeze was gentle, tugging at his dark clothing incessantly, as if trying to goad him into movement. It swirled around him, playing with his jacket, as if asking, Why do you not play with me? However, the man remained as a marble statue, arms crossed in that sort of posture that said welcomed no conversation. He seemed not unfriendly, only unwilling to speak, mute. It was apparent in the sharp downcurve of his lips, and the way his eyes were distant, as if walking down a boulevard of memories and empty dreams.

          All he could remember was the fall, caused by the fault of his own ambition.

          Ambition. That was the embodiment of his soul, of who he is was.

          It lasted for a thousand years, and it lasted for a split second. In contrast to the breeze currently playing with his clothes, his hair, the winds of shame rushed by him at a million miles per hour, howling in his ears, ripping the breath from his lungs, tearing his wings asunder. It burned, it burned as if hot, molten rock was what flowed through his veins, rather than the golden ichor of angels, of gods. No more; no more did the healing, rejuvenating fluid run through his veins. In its place, there was nothing but blackness, nothing but ice and stone. He was aflame during the fall, bellowing his agony, and yet, it had been so very cold; he was left a mere empty shell of himself, alone, forgotten.

          He lost his ambition, his will to live. He lost it all when he had been thrown from the peak of his glory.

                        Even the monsters that hide in the dark had not wanted him.

          He became a wanderer, a wayfarer, a lost soul with nowhere to go. The winds of change bid him from place to place, and for millenia, he did just that. Move. Travel. Assume different identities, different names. He never stayed in one place for long though. Memories caught up with him too easily, and in his attempts to drown himself from the pain, he focused on movement, on busying his hands, his mind, his body. He focused on the road beneath his feet, not the crumbling path behind him.

          He could never go back.

          He was cursed to walk this empty earth forever, forlorn and lost, constantly seeking some sense of warmth in this life. He never did. Civilizations rose and fell beneath his watchful eyes, generations lived, and generations died. Nothing changed; it was all the same. He never spoke to anyone, only watched.

          It came as no surprise when his cerulean eyes fixated upon the visage of a young woman, whose sprightly beauty he could not dispute.

          What was surprising, however, was the sudden desire to speak to her.

          The unnamed woman, seated some distance away, seemed to be scribbling away in a sketchbook. Every once in a while, she would glance up, at him, as if studying his unique visage before losing herself in the whiteness of paper once more. His own eyes watched her, curious, until finally he could not stand remaining still any longer. The man, clothed only in dark attire (which rightly matched his typically bitter manner), rose from his seat like a spectre rising from the ground, practically gliding towards her with graceful movements, almost... unearthly.

          He stopped in front of her, at a time in which her focus was entirely on that sketch of hers; upon closer inspection, it appeared to be----

                                                                                    The book snapped shut.

          Startled, the raven-haired onlooker quickly shifted his gaze to the woman's face, youthful, questioning.

          Silent for a moment, as if trying to remember how to speak (what was the accursed language that humans of this region spoke?!), he finally greeted her in a smooth, shadowy tone:

(angel!khan would be amazing oh my god)

Send me a ❤ and I'll randomly generate a scene for our muses to RP (NSFW Version)

6. My muse goes down on yours.

                                   ❝morning Janice!❞