The Cove is a quiet place as of late and he enjoys it. His mind drifting gin and out the like the flow of the sea, going away and coming in again. Optimism and pessimism playing with his thoughts like the toiling of a stormy sea. His body is slashed in fresh scars, slashes and rips through his painted flesh. This is what it is to have something of your own these days? His skin twitches as if to deflect an insect, but it’s a recoil of his anxiety.
Spring, the children are arriving, some may even be his children. It’s something he’s usually alight with, but this year it seems a dull even comparatively. He fears, and can feel the dark loud loaming, he may have made a mistake by leaving the Isle and taking the Cove for himself. It laid abandoned, and still, te moment he came crawling into the silver light; new enemies came crawling forward too.
He doubts himself tonight, tipping his bright eyes up to the grinning moon. A pair of white ghostly ravens gush from his chest, at first a mix of white smoke like material and floating liquid. They float up to take full form, still pale and translucent, they extend their long wings and circle above him as he watches the sea from the black sand shores. Irisaen is wrapped around his scarred ear, her iridescent scales reflecting the moon’s strong glow.
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, “Grandfather,” his gritty voice begs for help with just one word.
He is drowning.
CHEMDOG
to the window, to the wall
to the window, to the wall
pfft oh nothing, just chem sitting around, feeling sorry for himself.
