[open] dazzling starlet, bardot reincarnate

[rapt]

rapt

rapt.

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail
the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream

Rapt has always found it easy to worship.
He is built for it, he thinks, or at least he has adapted to be built for it. He can tear himself open, bleed at their altars (or, better - be bled, let their teeth rend flesh, take what he so freely gives) and the wounds heal themselves, knit back up with almost no scar on his skin. He is beautiful enough, and gold, a living thing to be given in worship.
Never mind his worship is odd, that what he loves most are the monstrous things. All faiths are monstrous, in their way.

He moves in the forest with the rest of them, his own strides moving faster, waking with the rest of the world. He is not thinking of monsters, not now, he is merely enjoying the wind at his mane, the stretch of muscle as he passes beneath the trees.
He sees her from the corner of his eye, and almost keeps moving - he is not in the habit of approaching strangers - but something makes me hesitate.
The divine calling, or a monster. They are often one and the same, to him.
He moves closer until he is well within her vision. He pauses, then, does not rush to close the distance.
“Hello,” he says, then, belated, “am I bothering you?”

but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever

@hysperia