AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
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The other was a warmth he didn't know he'd needed, his warmth more than physical alone. It was like holding a ray of sunshine, feeling the sun on the hair, napping in a pool of sunlight. Arlo was that and more, things his mind couldn't accept in his drunken state. He followed this warmth, mindless until they moved and he was a quiet presence following the touch and presence of his sunlight.
He did not want to be without that strong wind, that press of fur against his and the comfort it brought with him. His stomach might growl and his throat might ache like nothing else, but he would be fine if he could just stay there with the sunlight. He didn't want to fall into the waiting darkness that crept closer every time that Arlo moved in a direction he had to scramble to keep up with.
Pushing into his den, he was met by the comforting scent of Arlo, his eyes slowly circuiting the room as the alcohol began to do its work even more. The slow tug of the wing caused a frantic sound to escape the gray tom, trying to lean into the wing with a frantic gasp, trembling as he stared at Arlo as if begging him not to step away even for a short time. Short were the seconds but to him they felt as if years, eyes locked onto the one who was his sunlight, a distressed and raspy mewl making its way past his voicebox without any words, though he sat still and shivered. His paws were kneading where he sat helplessly, gaze locked onto Arlo with desperation. He didn't want to be left even for a moment and Arlo was the sun in a terrifying night.
He did not want to be without that strong wind, that press of fur against his and the comfort it brought with him. His stomach might growl and his throat might ache like nothing else, but he would be fine if he could just stay there with the sunlight. He didn't want to fall into the waiting darkness that crept closer every time that Arlo moved in a direction he had to scramble to keep up with.
Pushing into his den, he was met by the comforting scent of Arlo, his eyes slowly circuiting the room as the alcohol began to do its work even more. The slow tug of the wing caused a frantic sound to escape the gray tom, trying to lean into the wing with a frantic gasp, trembling as he stared at Arlo as if begging him not to step away even for a short time. Short were the seconds but to him they felt as if years, eyes locked onto the one who was his sunlight, a distressed and raspy mewl making its way past his voicebox without any words, though he sat still and shivered. His paws were kneading where he sat helplessly, gaze locked onto Arlo with desperation. He didn't want to be left even for a moment and Arlo was the sun in a terrifying night.
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THE FLOWER BURNS