that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
The evening comes upon him like a sigh.
Like an exhale, and he feels like he can finally release the breath that he had been holding all day. It floods from him like a dammed river and the tension that had built between his shoulders, the sharp pain that had begun to brew behind his eyes dulls slightly. He feels each individual muscle untie as the afternoon bleeds into twilight which then bleeds into true night. His magic unlocks in his chest, stretching until its true form, yawning open to its full potential, and he practically purrs with pleasure as it does.
Shaking his head, black scales rippling across the golden form of him before sinking beneath the surface, he turns his head upward toward the moon. His lips peel back into a wolfish smile, revealing the sharpened teeth behind the velvet mouth, and he closes his eyes for a second—feeling the silvery light wash over him, his own golden glow radiating in response. A creature of the night, he thinks, laughing at the irony that he is now the most alive during the hours when he had always been the closest to death.
How cruel.
How fitting.
Not willing to stare too long into his own truths tonight, he turns away from the forest that he usually haunts and instead makes his way toward the river. He has come to appreciate the crashing water against the bank—the way that it writhes in places and then smooths out like hammered silver. There’s an honesty to it that he can understand, and he rolls his shoulders as he casts his attention toward the shadow that trails faithfully behind him. Come on then, he thinks toward it, watching as it jerks its shapeless head in response, unused to being addressed fully. Rolling his eyes, Firion continues onward, trusting it would follow him as it does, and instead turns his attention toward the riverbank that winds before him.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@[savage] now you have to write to me