A man dressed in a long black coat and pants stood in front of the desk. A gray mask, much like a surgical mask, covered half of his face so only his violet eyes were visible. He swayed on his feet and pressed his palm against his forehead with a grunt. His eyes flicked back and forth erratically as he filed through recent and painful memories. A
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"I take it you believe that is beautiful. Myself, I think it an ugly and sad story; but one that is likely meant as an allegory, and not to be taken literally. Perhaps it is an allegory of the soul's distance from the Increate ..." I shrugged. "I would like to know why you find it beautiful. Are you an algophilist?"
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"Thanatophilia," he offered. He loved pain as well, but one couldn't forget his fascination with death (though many have tried to).
((Now I want to see him serving somebody people soup.))
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And though Karasu didn't doubt resurrection (Kurama's existence was proof enough), he found it a boring topic.
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"What are you?" I did not try to warm with artifice the coldness that surely colored my query.
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"Why do you ask?" he tilted his head and licked his bottom lip, though she couldn't see that.
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