What could go wrong in your hands?

₊˚⊹♡

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ ∂єѕιяє σƒ тнє єη∂ℓєѕѕ. ⋄

Wind chimes jingle in the void.

"My mind is made. Yours isn't."

A blunt statement. Delivered with a smug grin.

"No.

Of all the things I don't know. That one, I do.

I can see the threads of Fate. Bound in the tapistry. And I know when mine ends.

What about yours?"

"Then I am to give, yeah? To make something."

In his head. That's how it works.

"Do I?

Specify. I said a lot of things."

"Why not? Life does nothing *but* devour."

"Seems accurate."

He spoke. Reaching down. A a flower is absorbed in his hand. An attempt to understand.

One that fails. His eyes squint.

Not familiar with those.

How dare you.

I'm clearly shaved Hozier.

"Depends on how much I like folk.

I don't assume you know Hard Times Come Again No More? Struggling to remember the damn key..."

He rubs his chin, producing a notebook as his arms rest on the instrument.

"The less I like them, the clearer I am."

I WANNA PET THE DOG

He's been using the swamp as a base.

It's fun to pull the croc's tails and RUN-

He shrugs.

"Never forgot that."

Man of few words- when he can't read the script. His green eyes stare past walls of inexistence.

ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴘᴘᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏʟᴅ
ɪ ᴘᴏʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴏʟᴅ
ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀɪɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ʀᴏᴛ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴇɴᴇᴅ ꜱᴋɪᴇꜱ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴛʀʏ~🎵

And yet she takes the form of a woman, guessed in earthly hues.

There *is* something.

What *does* she remember?

A life without validation- is no better than one in slavery.

"A Carcosan."

His eyes raise. An eerie green of the auroras over the snow. Under blond locks against an anachronistic suit.

He's old and young. All at once. His hushed voice is deafening. His pressence turns snow to ice around his feet.

"That must be exactly why you were chosen.

Yet~>

"I know everyone.

All are bound by fate."

The hurdy gurdy creaks, whining into the auroras overhead. He's trying to find his tone.

"Wouldn't you rather do something else?"