[God gave permission for his soul to relax here, in a place like this? His eyes narrow, pensive and dark - it doesn't quite feel like that. It feels like a joke. He was doing all that he could to make up for his mistakes, set things right, go after the very man who pushed and prodded him into becoming the worst kind of monster. To be here feels like thorns under his skin, more insidious than the vines that can literally grow there. His grapes are kind. His own restless agitation, eating away at him at the thought of things left unfinished, is not.]
[But its a good thought, he supposes. A kind, sincere thought. It could be worse.]
[It could be hell. A place that he deserves, at the end of the road, burning up his worthless soul into ash and flame, not unlike the wood that crackles and disintegrates in front of them now.]
[The last admission makes him abandon his own worrisome thoughts - enough about him. Here's a man who has found something here, perhaps, an anchor to latch onto to move forward. He'll rest his own thoughts on that, one of his thumbs moving in a small circle before resting.]
[I can't find any form of salvation, but maybe you-]
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ninetydegrees
no subject
2023-01-22 23:32 (UTC)[But its a good thought, he supposes. A kind, sincere thought. It could be worse.]
[It could be hell. A place that he deserves, at the end of the road, burning up his worthless soul into ash and flame, not unlike the wood that crackles and disintegrates in front of them now.]
[The last admission makes him abandon his own worrisome thoughts - enough about him. Here's a man who has found something here, perhaps, an anchor to latch onto to move forward. He'll rest his own thoughts on that, one of his thumbs moving in a small circle before resting.]
[I can't find any form of salvation, but maybe you-]
...What sort of answer are you looking for?