Desreal: Oh hi, darling -- mommy called; she has a present for you.

horse stock by colourize @ deviantArt ; photomanipulation by Lore

“ welcome to Castle Anthrax. ”

He’s my son. Was – once.

Who?

Tyriel.

Tyriel?

My, isn’t this interesting. Somebody’s been lying about his identity – and isn’t it just my luck that it’s none else than him?

It’s peaceful here, when you stop fighting and surrender. There’s no reason to fight; there’s no reason to hurt. Fever runs through me like a lover, more intimate than anything of flesh and bone could ever be; I must be a grotesque sight, under the weight of the pitch-black plague that saw fit to harass us: the boils, the flaming cuts, the red-rimmed eyes thick with illness.

Grotesque suits me; I was not made for pretty.

Ooh, Tyriel, where are you, darling?

The elements are strangely bipolar – humming in delight at our will, tearing us apart at their whim. It’s lovely, though – lovely that something can be so wild and so majestic. Like listening to a tiger purr: innocence flecked with malice. Tonight, they feel muted, distant. Faint echoes in counterpoint to a heartbeat.

I love it all.

Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…

Perhaps it’s just the film of fever wrapped around my brain like cotton and silk.

Mommy has a gift of plague for you, darling, as well as… something special.

I have a feeling I will enjoy this.

A lot.

Seems like I found an use for you too, dear. Now come out, come out, wherever you are...

FENRISULFR
an axe age, a sword age, shields will be cloven;
a wind age, a wolf age, ere the world sinks.