#vr;

Idly tracing the veins that made up the chain link fence that ran along the entirety of the alleyway he had found himself in, the perpetually young male treading along, not knowing (nor caring) much where he ended up.  Eternity bred ennui; it was inescapable.

He spent a few moments at the foot of a twisted tree, dead for many moons, mourning the death of the wood nymph that was tied to it. He was quite certain that the humans hadn't made the attempt to, and nymphs were his domain.  He felt obliged.  Turning on his feet, and making a disgruntled noise at the way the hard soles of his shoes sounded against the crumbling asphalt, he made to continue his stroll. 

Curiously, a black, black presence tickled it's way about the god's senses, at first a mere wisp, before permeating his entire being.  He recognized this god, his fingers tightly curled around Pan himself in times past.  One of the ungodly ones.  The filth of Tartarus.   Did he dare speak his name?  He did.