ah.
he had been contemplating this earlier, and with this reveal then perhaps it’s finally happened: he’s finally landed in hell.
no, no, he knows that isn’t true. the gods of any world he’s been a part of seem much too cruel to allow him to enter such a place, instead inviting him into purgatory eternal and telling him to make his own despair. they were all so very alike like that.
the curve of the woman’s hair tied up in twin buns, the long sweeping cloth of an inken dress, the deep veins that traveled up stark white arms-- why, he knows them all too well. he held those hands, once. it had been such a long time ago, yet somehow the memory makes him tug at his gloves some, fingers curling as his boot scuffs against the floor behind him.
maybe the past few months have taught him something of spontaneity, how chance can wriggle its way into any plan one can make and snap it to pieces just like that. what to do, what to do...
well.
“ how fitting. “ he ventures forward, not sparing even a moment to introduce himself as he takes a step forward, hands tucked behind his back as he tries his best to seem tall-- tall despite all the death and misery that stains his hands, all the failures that clung to his back with serrated hooks. “ adding yet another layer of triviality to make this meeting completely useless, as always. “ with a slight tilt of his head and a hollowed look, somehow, in this moment, his shadow seems so long compared to the boy whose footsteps he had stolen. he seems... tired.
“ hello, salem. “
gods, if that wasn’t the understatement of the millennia.
( @fatedespised, you’ve updated your look. )
