— I'll break you a hundred different ways —
Beqanna is sick, and he is partially to blame.
He would not claim credit, though. He had merely accepted an invitation to a party; he was not the one who hosted it, nor was he the guest of honor. Normally one to prefer solitude, it was out of character for him to heed the dark God’s call, but one grows restless when anchoring themselves to solitude for too long.
He was not disappointed. The party had lived up to all its hype.
The adrenaline from the kill had long wore off, but the disease lingered. It had settled into his veins, sinking like teeth into his bones until his body was pulsing with a dull ache. A dark red stain trailed from both nostrils, and upon his pale lips; he doesn’t seem to notice. He did nothing to stifle his sickening cough, nonchalantly spitting the blood that pooled within his mouth onto the ground below as he walked. His silver wings remained tucked at his side, ignoring the branch and briar that tugged at his steel-colored mane.
He cast a glance briefly to the sky above, noting where the sun sat amongst the clouds. Midday, perhaps. He despised being in public in the night hours, preferring to avoid the unwanted attention that his evening curse often brought. Of course, for the last several years he has avoided the mainlands all together, but the gathering in Pangea had piqued his curiosity, wondering what has become of his homeland. He remains in the forest, for now, a slip of silver amongst the shadows, and he is almost silent, save for the sporadic coughing and rattled breathing.
— and I'll make you remember my face —
