buried alive

The eyes of the sight-hound may work, but can he see? Can he? Can he? He slips through the tunnels, weaving and snaking his way through each and every crack and crevice, his body like oil-- a black sheen, laced with iridescent hues of distant auroras somewhere painted along his glossy, gleaming coat. And eyes of silver,blank and unseeing, glittering like the bonegleam of a sun-bleached skull tucked neatly into a narrow face that is long and tall and he is a spindly, spider-like creature who's every step is a dance. Graceful, silent, he stalks and sneaks until the delicate notes of curious voices reach the Jester's ears and oh, how WIDE is the grin that spread across his face as his tongue rolls out to moisten the exposed flesh and tendon of his ceaseless smile.

He is at home. Glittering. There is no light deep within the confines of the caverns, tucked deep beneath earth, in the many hollowed-out crevasses that were dug deep into the stone, tight walls and even tighter tunnels that were filled to the brim with jagged and razor-sharp crystals that jutted out without reason from the walls, floor, and ceiling. And yet, with ease and a fluid grace that was unnatural, a calming smoothness as if liquid rolls beneath his fur and flesh rather than muscle and bone, he weaves through.

Here he searches, resonance. He must to feel the vibrations of the earth and the rocking of the tides, unmoved by the moaning of the wind. But he knew for what purpose he came and for what reasons he'd arrived and they would KNOW him in ways they'd never known before.


"Knock, Knock. Anybody home? I'd hate to make a bad first impression." A laugh--perhaps a cackle?-- rolls from his chest and the voice that speaks is smooth and silken and sultry. His voice is crushed velvet, over gravel, and the accent is distant and exotic and laces each of his words with a distinct coiling of syllables that brings each and every note of his tone into a smooth purr.
"Hic et monstra, my dear." he hums towards the innocent voice of the youth that had traveled far too deep,"You must be wary. Curiosity killed the cat and it can most certainly kill those less cunning." He drifts, silent, a spectre dressed in black, for here, in the darkness, where there is no light and eyes cannot see...

he has never seen, and so, he is not at all blind. He sees all.
"I can hear your heartbeat..." he breathes, "....The both of you." His laughter catches in his throat-- a strangled chuckle. And he waits. They will know him.




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"Lorem Ipsum"