B a D W O L F || Offspring

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

 
  He can see the discomfort roiling beneath the surface – he is flinching and shifting in his discontent, a sneer of thinly veiled disdain settled upon the terse tension of his face. He is hardly bothered by it; the stifling humidity had nearly been enough to suffocate even him, long ago, but he had not only become accustomed to it, he had thrived within it.

  The restrictive heat and inhibiting dampness of the rumbling, churning volcano is cut only by the gentle caress of the soothing, salty sea breeze, but the festering, brightly burning flame licking the surface of his dark, marred flesh is a much more commanding presence, and he does not notice much else.

  Though the fire had once scalded him from within, it had since become a deeply intricate part of his very fiber, with fire blistering within every nerve ending, every twitch of thick and coiled muscle – even the tender marrow of his broad frame. A faint edge of unease has already begun to descend, settling over him in a thick drapery of uncertainty, while the dark ember of his crimson gaze is settled intently upon the stranger, who is not able to disguise the slithering serpent beneath the poorly constructed façade of sincerity.

  Beneath the surface of his contrived virtue, there is a glimmer of mischief and danger (he has lived too many lifetimes not to recognize trouble, even when cloaked), and the blistering flame from within has surfaced, setting the darkness of his skin ablaze in a thick, flickering haze of fire.

  His gaze is laden with suspicion and doubt, skepticism agitating his rapid thoughts.

  In between each sweetened, longing word, there is a gleam of falsehood, and though he is altogether disbelieving of the rapidly spun tale he has begun to unravel before him, he cannot merely spurn him based on his instinct alone. Softly, his voice rises above the churning sea, his iron eyes never leaving his.

  ”Your name is familiar, Gryffen,” though he cannot say from where, nor from whom he had heard it from. Unlike Gryffen, his own words are not insincere – there are many wandering the volcanic isle – he knew of Amorette, but not of her name – she had drifted to and fro, as wild and as unwieldy as the open sea, and thus he has nothing to offer the wraith. ”alas, those you seek are not. You will not find what you are looking for here.”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.