In the Fade, everything is real, and nothing is real, and all of it is true. Old instinct has him shrouded in a cloak to secret away his identity, his face masked by a helm molded into the image of an obsidian dragon's skull. (Calling it a helm is a bit simplistic; it is as much a part of him here in this place as his soul is, and blends into this projection of his body.) He has no idea what he would look like, here in this place, without it; the Fade doesn't have many mirrors.
The girl in the viscous sea is a vision--or, at the very least, the magic searing and ripping her open from torso to gut is. The power emanating from her has a magnetism that sinks its hooks into the deepest of his visceral needs and pulls at him; there's no air here to breathe, but if he could, it would catch in his throat. Marvellous.
He lifts his hands and moves them as though pushing aside some low-hanging branches, and before him, the thick water parts to offer him up a narrow, black path of sand straight to Sina. He approaches her with caution. "If I knew how, I would relieve you of your burden," he offers to her, and one suspects that this generosity is not borne out of kindness, but dark greed.
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The girl in the viscous sea is a vision--or, at the very least, the magic searing and ripping her open from torso to gut is. The power emanating from her has a magnetism that sinks its hooks into the deepest of his visceral needs and pulls at him; there's no air here to breathe, but if he could, it would catch in his throat. Marvellous.
He lifts his hands and moves them as though pushing aside some low-hanging branches, and before him, the thick water parts to offer him up a narrow, black path of sand straight to Sina. He approaches her with caution. "If I knew how, I would relieve you of your burden," he offers to her, and one suspects that this generosity is not borne out of kindness, but dark greed.