[private] made a deal with god

[fyre]

fyre

scratch on the moon
like a familiar smile
stained on my mind

Perhaps he is prowling. There are those he passes by that hardly strike his fancy. What memories do invade his mind are too much and too loud for him to take much of an interest. There are those that give him pause, but he hardly has enough handle on his power to partake in mischief; besides, he has no idea he can alter memories, not yet.

Ryatah approaches confidently, hundreds of years of memories waiting to overflow Fyre’s mind. Initially, he whips his head around to stare at her defiantly, but his gaze softens when it finds the pretty sparkle of her eyes. He immediately knows her mind to be much older than his, but the tone of most of her memories does not offer him the wisdom one might expect. She is not stupid, but she certainly has her vices.

“I think you will do just fine,” he returns, voice gravelly and roughened by years of neglect. The smile on his face is charming, perhaps even handsome, but both qualities can easily disappear if he lets on to how much he prowls after those that do not deserve it. Though, hell, maybe Ryatah will find something redeeming in that undeserving vengeance.

Fyre steps closer and broadens that predator’s grin of his. “What is with this place?” he questions, offering no elaboration. He plucks a memory of a magician from her mind and chews on it, attempting to hold back the onslaught that wants to rush forward. “What kind of magic makes a place like this exist?”