Chapter Text
I. Hard Parade
It was strange, how it felt before.
Lukewarm wine, needy and clammy touches, spilling guts, decay, dust, mirthless laughter.
And now.
The brightest radiant blue, small hands, slender fingers, copper that radiates in the sunlight, songs, lemons, and a soft touch, sometimes.
He lives for these things now, but the contrast is so sharp it takes his breath away.
So occasionally there still is a thick tongue and crusts of dried blood on his hands that are not his. (Because it is not enough.)
Hands that want to caress and draw in closer but also grab and shake violently.
And so he stalks exhausted through empty corridors untill he’s in his rooms and lets the darkness swallow him whole.