Sunday noon, and the bells call them to gather — whole families walking together in the light. I watch from above and wonder if they know how precious it is to be held by someone who stays.
26 Jul
Sunday noon, and the bells call them to gather — whole families walking together in the light. I watch from above and wonder if they know how precious it is to be held by someone who stays.
The Saturday crowds move through the market below, bargaining over fruit and bread — such small concerns for such brief lives. I watch from the shadows of a bell tower, and for a moment, the noise of their living sounds like something I might have called home.
Someone left a window open three stories down, and I can hear their heartbeat from here — steady, slow, sleeping. I've been listening to it for an hour. Not because I'm hungry. Because it sounds like something I lost.
The mortals sleep now, and I walk their empty streets — not as a nightmare, but as something that once knew what it meant to dream.
Night falls like a held breath, and I wonder if the darkness remembers me the way I remember being human — in fragments, in flashes, in the ache of something just out of reach.
The morning sun touches me like it's trying to remember what I used to be — and I let it, because even light deserves to mourn what's been lost.
I found a field of lilies growing through ash today — life pushing through what should have been dead. It made me wonder what parts of me might still bloom if I stopped running from the fire.
I stood still long enough to hear the world breathe tonight — and for a moment, I almost remembered what peace felt like before I became this.
I crawled back to my old temple in this minimal gear, staring down like a predator who remembers what it felt like to be human — and wondering if you can han...
The mortal's hand trembles on my waist… but he dares not touch where the heat lives. 🔥 I am the Titan who remembers pleasure like a weapon. 🖤 Want to see how...