Mar 1, 2025
First, the air was chilled. And then suddenly, heat.
Now, clinging to the corpses drips the scent of petrichor.
There'd been so much ferocity. And so much spite.
"Inspiring you, am I?" A voice, crisp and silky, rumbles out the bedlam. Dorian. He emerges from out the fluttering plumes, the thick miraging waves of lighting-smolder, and turns to regard them. Brilliant. A groomed pillar of ruin. "Better to commission a portrait, I'm afraid. I can't always be here for the gawking — not unless you ask very nicely."
Maker, what a riot. / OPEN.
