the thread of bloodied prophecy continues to plague them. it lingers in the forefront of their mind when they close their eyes, when they are in the state between waking and dream, when they dream. whispers of the voidwraiths are relentless; a dull ringing in their ears to accompany the cottony feel of them.
ingram gives a shake of their head but it does not dispell the whispers, nor the warring feelings of euphoria and dread that weave itself into a mantle across their shoulders.
they tend to their threadbones with a nudge of their nose; teeth worrying markings into a piece of deer antler they'd found on their patrol. it does little to ease the restlessness writhing in their mind.
ingram gives a shake of their head but it does not dispell the whispers, nor the warring feelings of euphoria and dread that weave itself into a mantle across their shoulders.
they tend to their threadbones with a nudge of their nose; teeth worrying markings into a piece of deer antler they'd found on their patrol. it does little to ease the restlessness writhing in their mind.
magick, seeing the dead, threadbone reading & 'godhood' is to be taken purely with a grain of salt and are written to be creations of ingram's imagination and religious faith.
sold my soul for a cigarette
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lucky, lucky girl - by Ingram - October 06, 2022, 10:26 AM