ōdaigahara, fleet foxes
can i be light and free?

𝕱rom where he stood, Castiel was able to pick out cottages in the middle of wild fields, small dots like speckled paint on a worn-out cotton canvas. In the middle of nothingness, downbeat like Atlas, the seraph puts his hands in his battered trenchcoat's pockets. The ill wind, familiar at a time, now makes him ache deep to his bones.

His human, frail vessel betrays him; knees buckling as he collapses, fingers digging into the damp earth unwittingly. His knees pop, teeth chatter, he lives and hurts and it's all too much. Once the seraph brings his shaky hands to sit on his lap, his bewildered gaze lowers to the tableau of dirt on his scarred palms and the blood caked under his nails.

He sits and watches as the world burns.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tw blood, gore, deaths, unhealthy
amount of lore and horror stories,

disclaimer achiles and savannah
and all the graphics made for this
book belong to me, the pilot is
inspired by hp lovecraft and all the
other characters belong to cw

note i've been reading a lot of hp lovecraft
lately and here's the post apocalypse world
no one asked for with my own children