I DONT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT REDEMPTION

a gasp of heightened terror escaped the actor's lips, mock horror plaguing his fair features. maeva, don't look! he haphazardly kicked her maggot-infested skull further beneath his chest, making sure her empty sockets were pointed away. it's too much for you, my dear. he would shake his head slowly, adding a timely tisk. before them lay the carnage of one lucky son of a bitch's dinner, a fellow cervid of smaller proportions. nasal canals would expand with feverish intent, chest cavity taking in great amounts of the salty air which faintly burned his throat. he wasn't far behind.

effortlessly those svelte stilts of his would carry him onward, taking direction from his virtuous nostrils. above him the gods would plunder, darkening the skies and causing a ruckus. it was a scene to be ignored, and indeed the thunderous roaring would fall on deaf ears. sooner than later, a rather enticing scene played before him. he would peep, as a man would, just inside the corridors of the brush. possessively he would slide the doe's head back, away from the woman's lewd grooming, while an uncouth purr joined the god's in their pillage.