Sawtooth Spire süße augen

yeah they really said 'i cannot hear' to mahler's lessons, lmao

Astraeus merely grunted as consequence bit him in the face. His breadbasket feeling heavy with self-centered guilt, he brooded silently and his nicked a minuscule insect on his toe idly. The aggressive cowbird sniffed in indignation, yet Astraeus was his own tell-tale. Suiting. Let the Eisen administer the mini-gargoyle with his sawtooth-spiked fist. As if the gargoyle was indebted to Phaedra, the pre-mature duckling privileged to his ardor and kisses, unlike the boy. He would arch his chin and puff at the adjective, he was priceless to this world. The star-imp no longer had interest in Phaedra's ploys to somehow decipher death nor adhere to Mahler's tutorial.

The boy could be read like a scripture by a passionate follower, following every bit with religious zeal — jealously plagued his mindset of the children not only having one, but two parents! While Astraeus had hardly managed to know one, lest his genitor knew of his existence yet forgot like the flotsam, the unworthy son that he is perceived to be? The sighing rays of the sun peering from the leaves could not illuminate his thoughts, even in the most dreadful of nightmarish hours! Astraeus was indebted to nothing, so he preformed so himself with nothing but razor teeth and less than cordial nature.

Though, he was not wading in a depressive manner in this thought, rather where he could find foodstuffs to fill him. There was nothing quite like the peaceful times when he could eat with greed, quiet and no one to challenge his self bestowed authority. Bite your thumb, or he'd nick your nail. Suckling his tooth with his tongue under clasped dry lips, Astraeus no longer felt dutiable to staying with Mahler and distracted himself with the log Phaedra had already. But papa — whatever they were yapping about was pointless. There was much more interesting dwellings in this log than whatever the now moss ridden imp had to say, surely.

Had he caught her mooning over spider eggs a a lick ago? Ah ha! Maybe today he would test Phaedra's theory of filling on non-meat produce. Poking them with his frigid nostrils, he loomed over the unborn silken weavers, not aware of their mother guarding the silk sack. He squawks (like the cowbird he is) as eight orbs switched to him, the legged weaver woman too close for comfort. "DAGH!" he warbled and tripped over himself backing out, chest grasping for air. 

Tail between his legs, he waddled back to Mahler as Phaedra asked her inquiry.