Black Morass Need you like I need a broken leg

kóvictus approaches. the earth sinking beneath the titan, the swamp swallowing sound in muted squelches as he stops behind her. golden eyes bore into the back of her skull, unblinking, unrelenting.

why do you wash? the question comes in the form of a growl. he had been watching envy, for quite some time now. it was easy enough to blend into the thick of the morass with his dark coat—easier that he didn't take the time to wash himself of the mud so quickly replaced.

it is foolish. an observation the dominus makes easily.

his breath huffs, hot, sharp.