#redrosethrone

send ‘❤️’ for my muse to say something positive or ‘🖤’ for my muse to say something negative about yours - accepting!

     “ Charlie’s amazing, ”   Maxwell said without hesitation, pausing at his own haste before continuing more slowly,  “ She... she was everything, the life of the show, clever, kind-hearted, brilliant. The only one who could ever keep me in check... ”

“ But she... She was too kind, I wouldn’t- I would never dare to call her naïve. I just, I just wish she would’ve seen the person I was before it was too late. 

Very, very slowly approaches him, sliding her arms around him from behind. She pulls him just slightly closer to the darkness - far away from him to make things a little more interesting, but not enough to lose control and take him out for good. She just wants to remind him how good darkness feels like.

"I knew I could count on you, Maxy ♥"

:)

@redrosethrone

     He couldn’t keep himself from startling when he felt arms cling to him, dropping the pickax he’d been carrying to the ground below. His feet stumbled as he was taken to the edge of the campfire’s protection, breath hitching and heart hammering in his chest as he fought against every well-earned survival instinct he’d developed over the years  ( has it really been years ? ).

     The dark was death. It was insanity. It was Them—

     Not anymore. Perhaps it never was. The dark was home. It was her. Her voice —  her praise. The last piece of divinity in a dammed world. He focused on it, anchored himself to it, and let himself think of nothing more.

“ Of course, ”   his voice a murmur  ( the likelihood for one of the survivors to be out this far away from camp in the middle of the night was unlikely, but still he took no chances. He would not waste what progress he'd already made, would not risk his queen's plans ).  An almost flustered smile graced his face once he'd caught his breath, though he was quick to smooth it out,   “ Anything for you, Charlie. ”

     Nothing else mattered, had ever mattered. He would be king again. He would be with Charlie again. The dark could not scare him with that knowledge on his side  ( it did ),  not when there was clarity in his goals  ( there wasn’t ), not when he would stop at nothing to achieve them  ( would he ? ).

     Maxwell forced his body to relax, letting himself take comfort in Charlie’s presence, soothing the tatters of his mind and drowning out the quiet, stubborn, treacherous thoughts with the growing intensity of Their whispers. This was what he'd always wanted, and the doubt in his mind could not argue with that. Not when he'd spent countless lifetimes craving the chance to repent to Charlie. Nothing and nobody else mattered, and he would repeat it until he could choke on it.

“ Anything, ”   the word repeated with certainty, leaning just slightly closer — as much as he could dare — to her, a silent sigh laced with relief falling out.

A distinctly floral scent, not one mixed with honey, but a purely flowery smell pipes the beast's interest. It isn't the most intelligent creature by any means, but it has learned to distinguish between smells all around it to distinguish nature from manmade. A flower all on its own must've been planted.

Feastclops, as it is called, lumbers towards the smell. Its head cranes around as it walks, trying to make out blurry details from its eye, pulsating with untapped energy. It wants to clear its vision oh so desperately, release the energy stored in its eye, but it knows to save it for prey.

So it follows its nose. Up until the stench of roses become strongest.

Roses.

It stops. It can hardly see what is in front of it, but it knows who it found.

Send me a symbol! [Angst] - accepting!      ▲: my muse’s dying words as yours holds them - @redrosethrone

     The dawn had broken above them, covering the Constant’s land in warm hues, light reflecting off birch leaves in a mesmerizing pattern of beauty William found himself staring at as gentle hands dragged his swaying body to the ground. 

     It was day, yet the warmth refused to reach him, leaving him feeling so, so, so cold. 

     Yet every inch of him was burning, agony that claimed him was stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. It felt as if he were underwater, so numb yet the currents biting, threatening to drown him. At least the screams ( they’d been his own, hadn’t they? ) had stopped, leaving nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing and the ringing of his ears to deafen him.

Send my character a ★ and I’ll bold everything they feel toward your character - accepting

… With a small sigh, Wenzel clamped the lid down overtop of the crockpot, listening with exhausted content as it shuddered and churned as it worked.

… It always made him so tired when the nights got longer- came sooner… which was pretty suboptimal when you still had plenty of work to be done. But, for the circumstances, he was pretty pleased with the day’s events. Minimal harm- both to himself as well as his possessions- and just enough scavenged scraps to make himself a half decent dinner…

Wearily, he shuffled up beside his fire, feeding it just a little bit more, savoring the warmth it granted him in turn. With nowhere else to be for the rest of the night, to anyone else, now would seem to be the perfect time for some rest and relaxation.

Unfortunately for Wenzel, he was not anyone else. The smallest of discomforts pricked at his senses… made his skin tingle in apprehension. Something foreign.

" This is how it feels when you take your life back This is how it feels when you finally fight back When life pushes me I push harder What doesn't kill me makes me stronger "

- Skillet, "Not Gonna Die"

It's alright to scream, I'm screaming too Why do you think I do the things I do? For shadows haunted me like ghosts So I became what I feared the most