i swear you'll see the sun again; any

[sleaze]

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife He has not wanted to be himself for quite a while now. If he were crueler, or more careless, he might use his possession to try for a new life – to inhabit someone or something else, to live that life instead of his own. But he would not do that to anything else, he is not a thing he would inflict on anyone else. He does not know his own power, not truly, and even if he did, he wouldn’t want it. He has never wanted to be powerful (he tasted power, once, in the arena, when Master gave him powers, when he fought, and it was an ugly thing, sickening). But – Free. Light. Not like a horse. These are things he wants, and the desire is an overwhelming thing, hollering inside his chest. He looks at the skies. There are birds overhead, scattered, and he watches them. Free. “Oh,” is all he says, at first, already doubting himself, trying to bury the glimmer of a thought that skips across his mind, a possibility. He is chained and heavy, not free and light. He is not meant for those things. Such is his lot. Oh, but he wants -- “I have--” he begins - stupid - “I can possess things. For a while.” The other, wild raven is still overhead. He thinks of beating wings. “Would you…” Don’t. “show me?” sleaze cancer x garbage