how do you truly feel about bahamut?
fanciful blackness contours haggard temperament. disposition, seething beneath pressure of obscured emotionality, provides a sweltering rash within isolate psyche. no one is here. everyone is here. he is alone, but they are with him. the whispers of voracious impurity are demanding as they appeal, dictate, and exclaim intolerance upon tugged collar. they burn, and they sooth — a millennia of remedial cruelty.
how do you truly feel about bahamut?
digits are an abrasion upon flesh, scraping against depravity, degeneracy, and corruption. the daemons are assuaged — fleetingly placated by his carving steel into wardrobe. he hacks, and hacks, pouring fingers into progressive scar. debauch in their eroticism, the daemons lust for the flesh of divinity, of the authoritarian cosmos — to cannibalize its negligence and bury it deep into hearth of perdition, far beyond the sanctity of the netherworld.
how do you truly feelabout bahamut?
laceration reminisces the draconian’s bequeathing moralities. ABANDONMENT. he castrated the immortal of all his dignity; asphyxiated the sacredness of his rectitude, and left him to claw his way out from beneath the affliction of damnation with arms crucified to his back. this world remains in worship to this beast, blinded by the fallacy of history’s erroneous advance. paradox immerses, enticing susceptible minds to forget the likes of ardyn’s downfall. the truth of his betrayal. the prejudice of his damnation. like sheep, they venerate: a procession of apostles to mourn the draconian’s absence. he hides. he flaunts. ‘ catch me if you can , ’ an injective, provoking venom. how do you locate a monster, a forsaken vision of your soul being incinerated by its will, when it is no more a hallucination than the sanctuary to be found of tainted breath?
how do you truly feel?
“ ——— how does a forest appreciate the hubris of a lit match ? i’ll let you in on a secret . so long as its bearer cannot escape upon flame meeting terrain, the woodland embraces their mutual cremation . set fire to us both , else you run in cowardice . thousands of years pass —— and the landscape will flourish anew , from the ashes of its maker . the arsonist couldn’t possibly understand its redemption , not until it is too late . ”
“ to be frank : bahamut made the mistake of initiating my devastation once before , and will watch as i bask in the remnants he left of me . ”
