what turns up in the dark; any

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire Weed almost does not notice the once Queen come from behind him and fall to her knees; he almost does not pick up on the soft voice (you are everything), but he does—and, for a moment, it breaks his focus on the dark god before him. Angling his head toward her, his elegant mouth pulls into a sneer. For all his reverence, he still viewed himself above groveling; he viewed himself above everything. But the derision does not last for long—it is but a fleeting annoyance—before his coal black eyes catch on the gaze of his father. “It has been quiet,” he growls lightly, the word a snappy bullet of a judgement. It had been quiet; too quiet. What some may have seen as peace, he saw as a boredom. The kind that he could not help but scratch at until it festered. Their world was not made for such quiet. Ignoring the other, he takes a step forward, the thorns tightening and sinking their teeth into his shoulders. “Perhaps we can change that,” he says quietly, looking up beneath his forelock. He knew that whatever was to happen would happen on Carnage’s terms or not at all; while he did not enjoy waiting on the whims of another, he also knew that it would be impossible to fight it. In one way or another, they were all waiting under Carnage’s thumb—waiting for him to squash them like the ants they were. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster