[ By the time he makes it here, honestly, he's tired. The fury that roared like a flame has burnt down to a coal by now—after talking to everyone he needed to, everyone who needed him—but he nurses the embers, hot and angry, in the center of his chest.
Of course, it's not Love he's angry at.
He'll nod in acknowledgment of his name, but say nothing. Instead he'll do what he did when they met: take a seat on the floor opposite his god.
After a long moment of thought, he'll reach out and carefully draw Love's hands into his own. ]
no subject
Of course, it's not Love he's angry at.
He'll nod in acknowledgment of his name, but say nothing. Instead he'll do what he did when they met: take a seat on the floor opposite his god.
After a long moment of thought, he'll reach out and carefully draw Love's hands into his own. ]