❪ — Familiarity. ✧ / ˖ ˚ ❫

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———

Tugging. / Pulling.

A blink. / There. / A blink. / Here. / But, exactly, where?

Pulling. / T u g g i n g.

August blood stained throat, the lost child of death and void breathes determination nevertheless. / Thick and sticky against something beautiful. / Hot red on canvas. / Akin to a sun, it burns. / Even beauty h u r t s.

Icarus would agree.

No honey and milk will cool it down. / There shall be no rest when it is for the best, so, all up, he at it, just searching. / Meanwhile, he senses t h e m leading him. / He follows them like they are North Star, and t h e y speak to him in a shade of gray.

Painting his own world in monochrome.

He counts—one, two, three, more, and he finds himself staring at a shore.

Tuggingtuggingtuggingtugginghereherehereherehere—

He watches the tides go back and forth.

Soon, he, too, sways with it.

Once his celestial heart beats with calmness, he firmly presses his paws against the border and his eyes closes for a brief moment before he reveals them, a pair of pure gold and pitch black. / Life and death. / Something and nothing.

At last, low and slow, he utters, ❝ Desperado... Desperado... ❞

Not enough.

❝ Desperado Break... ❞

Desperado. / Desperado. / D e s p e r a t e.