→ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟʟᴇᴅ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ.
ᶠᴵᶜᵀᴵᴼᴺᴬᴸ ᴾᴱᴿˢᴼᴺᴵᶠᴵᶜᴬᵀᴵᴼᴺ
Joined September 2022
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There's an expression on his face that has no name— Not quite relief, not quite disgust. He isn't sure if he is pleased with this outcome, or dissapointed. To be unmade would be to die; To be gone, to feel blissful nothing once more.
But to stay, and to work, to regain +
his status—
Well, not his status, but his job, at the least,
Would be to accept his mistakes, accept his imperfectness, to be better.
There's a moment of hesitation, a fleeting moment where he realizes that he may run again, flee, disappear from the map once more, +
A soft exhale; a half-laugh, barely a chuckle that is muffled by the glass that is pressing to his lips again. He rolls the wine around his mouth, savouring the taste.
"Because you carry the burden of his feelings."
He sets the glass down and lets his smile spread wider, +
"You're one of Morpheus' boys."
The statement cuts the air; The Corinthian leans back in his seat as if getting more comfortable, fixes the other with a stare through his dark glasses as he swirls the red in his glass.
"I almost feel sorry for you."
[ A hand is raised to pause him, the nightmare sets ths bottle down. ]
Drink with me.
[ It's said lightly, a twitch of the corners of his mouth upwards; But the tone beneath is commanding, thinly laced with charm. ]
[ Careful fingers wrap the stem of the glass, raising it to his nose. He sniffs, gives a nonchalant shrug, and sips. ]
Thanks.