Melancholy.
"...." -Drip, drip, drip, drip. A mahogany, free-flowing solution soiled the resting boy's front, a miasma pricking his nostrils, unceremoniously waking the Demon.- "Mor-Morgana..? Bride..well?" -Worriedly inquired Voso, to his tranquility they both...
Bygone.
| | | "Magnum.." \*Bemoaned the youth, his mauve tresses flickering through the wizened gale. What a nauseating megalopolis, perhaps even as distasteful as this Poîtin he quaff back. Whump! As the vacant canteen impacted the filth-laced countertop....