i will continue to watch you rot . / joining

[VIRGIL M.]

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XVIII - THE MOON

a monument dreams and fantasies come to life, the representation of instincts often left suppressed and a knock into our subconscious.  Virgil of the pitt is a study in beauty: a perfect understanding of that which terrifies you, a perfect picturesque of horror and delight

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the earth under their feet shatters; in the far off distance of tan dunes and a tundra made unto hell- the visage is broken by the singular shape of a stranger. The oddness is benign, a wonder one part curiosity and two parts caution. Virgil is swayed closer towards the border, breaking free of the foliage of the jungle and coming to the edges of the flesh-wall erected: a mass of rot that stretch their lands. The sign to anyone looking that this is the place many will either join or die. Either you are prey or you are one of us. Sickly green hues narrowed down on the lion ( or was it a lion, what was perceived to Virgil was different than everyone else, and an aura so dreary hung around the other- reminded them of a thick bushel of hemlock berries ) the cock in their head as the whelp made an approach to side next to Gael.

"A sense unlike the rot clings to you, stranger" Virgil greets in a strange warning, her eyes narrowed thoughtful, but the smile along her maw was more than teeth. Sparks of excitement displayed under the wire-cord of their thick fur. "Yet you don't smell of here, hmm" There was a glance, towards the Vicar Ardent, but their gaze turned back towards the stranger soon enough, color her curious, color her mystified, someone so alike to these lands showing up at their border, yet the land around them were silent: withholding judgement.