For any costโa dream worth dreaming.
[ #HKRP / #MVRP ]
โ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ฆ ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐จ.
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Weary beingโwhat good to foresee a possibility unfulfilled?
Every vessel, rejected, chosen, or discarded; his omniscient duty now to witness and to soothe.
If abandoned, if by no one else, let them be seen and known and soothed by him. Let them be greeted in dreams no longer plagued by vibrant orange nightmares, if only this one, if only this once.
// Should probably write it down officially somewhere that this guy is deliberately written as belonging to no specific timeline. Heโs kind of just omniscient of every HK verse simultaneously.
Every Hollowโs honorary dad (or punching bag, depending). They can all get a little catharsis, as a treat
Weary bugs of god and void, neglected and mistreated by hands not his own, seen by eyes looking now through veil of dreams, known and understood.
How sad it is to have come to this. How undeserving, their fates he and his ilk have bestowed upon them; weakened and ill and desperate.
How poetic, to usurp a kingdom from her, then to steal the realm she lay banished in, once sorrow had claimed him when the cost weighed too heavy.
In what could be claimed his folliful youth, he sought to be revered, and dreamed to be remembered. In dreams now, forgotten as the goddess who came before, he is reclusive in new natureโnaught but a memory of failures sealed tight behind guilt and grief, seen and witnessed by none but known to all.
What tragedy in unending awarenessโto know of what was, could be, could have been. A thread pulled bare between reality and ideal, he peers through the veil to a life and lives brighter, gentler, kinder. A child content, a kingdom happy, a familyโ๐ข ๐ง๐ข๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐บ, and the simple fact it could be called one.
In remorse and loss and void he laments. Barred from rest eternal, kept conscious in a higher plane of this stolen realm, watching, and watching, and watching.
At times his essence escapes and finds its way before those with an open mind and sensitivity to the unknown.
// Literally all of my muses here are utterly haunted immortals in their own ways and have flowery/really particular speech. Itโs inescapable I fear. Iโve found my accidental niche
