10-04-2020, 07:23 PM
eight
To call it a curse would be a horrible thing - to mock it as something dangerous and undesired. A cure is something that shackles and binds; a think you cannot shake. No, no- magic is something more. It is a gift given to only those who deserve it, a calling to something greater, a beckoning to worlds beyond. His oceanic wonder has crawled through the depths of darkness to finally gleam in the light of his magicians blood. His mother (dear, sweet, Sabbath) drank deeply, and in doing so ignited something far more than she could ever hope. They may call it a curse- but the magician deems it a calling.
You can taste the heat- a tangible thing that creates its own atmosphere between the bright blue boy and dark black man. It is suffocating, an angry hiss that bears upon your ears and presses against your skin. He reaches out, testing and tasting what your magic is saying - a curse of serpent and scales, an absolute manifestation of your bloodline far beyond you know. An ignition between Sabbath and his hot, black blood between her teeth. So he did have a play in this, it was not just a fanciful fib to give the boy a reason. Eight feels the angry taste of magic and placates it with a push of his own: The boy will not yet understand. He needs a reason. Do not destroy your host, become whole with it. He and I will do you well.
The magician steps closer, barring his own skin with flecks of frost and ice to protect him from the sun storm of skin. “You can do all things now.” He reaches out, his nose connecting with the soft spot of Crowns’ chest, pushing his own might and magic inside to stoke the fire coursing through him- let it be done quick, let it be done soon.
“You will be able to be beside me and conquer anything you come across now, my son.” And for the first time, for his first child, he stands beside and uses the magic in his blood in their time of need.
You can taste the heat- a tangible thing that creates its own atmosphere between the bright blue boy and dark black man. It is suffocating, an angry hiss that bears upon your ears and presses against your skin. He reaches out, testing and tasting what your magic is saying - a curse of serpent and scales, an absolute manifestation of your bloodline far beyond you know. An ignition between Sabbath and his hot, black blood between her teeth. So he did have a play in this, it was not just a fanciful fib to give the boy a reason. Eight feels the angry taste of magic and placates it with a push of his own: The boy will not yet understand. He needs a reason. Do not destroy your host, become whole with it. He and I will do you well.
The magician steps closer, barring his own skin with flecks of frost and ice to protect him from the sun storm of skin. “You can do all things now.” He reaches out, his nose connecting with the soft spot of Crowns’ chest, pushing his own might and magic inside to stoke the fire coursing through him- let it be done quick, let it be done soon.
“You will be able to be beside me and conquer anything you come across now, my son.” And for the first time, for his first child, he stands beside and uses the magic in his blood in their time of need.
mind my wicked words and tipsy topsy smirk
@[crowns]