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 There is arrogance in his heritage, although he knows his bloodline has been shared amongst Kings and peasants alike. Son of the dark god and the snake-eyed mother with a thirst for magicians. He did not voice such thoughts often, but he carried it in his heart—a promise he would whisper to himself when the world was silent: you are a son of Carnage. It was this that composed the core of him—the cruelty, the intelligence, the quiet ambition. By nature, his blood was demonic; by virtue, his soul was too. So it is not without interest that he watches the comet crash unto the earth and rise as a horse dressed in the stars. He feels his pulse quicken with understanding as he makes his way forward, dragging the thorns that draped along his back with him. His coal-black eyes flash and his mouth forms a solemn slash, but he stays silent for a moment—taking in his father before him (although he understands that word rings hollow for someone who has brought life to so many others before and after him). “You return,” he finally says quietly, his elegant voice lowered in respect. He did not know what to expect from the dark god before him, whether the heavens made horse would even acknowledge his blood before him. All he knew was that he would not have this chance again; he would not pass up this opportunity to stand before immortality in its truest form. So he does not. Instead, he stands silent before the nebula with perhaps the only reverent expression that he has ever worn in his life. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster

WHOOPS I COULDN'T STAY AWAY