I cultivate a highly rarified caffeine addiction, and have a fatal weakness for villains and cheekbones and accents. Gradually taking over the Bahorel tag, and French people are the bane of my existence. Ask me about vowels.
cue the scary music and maniacal laughter. Why I’m posting this, i have no idea
The world ends, and the people wait.
They’re waiting for a revolution that they can’t start on their own. They’re waiting for a man who believes, who can tell them, eyes full of light, “it does not matter if we fall. Let them rise, let others take our place. The world will be free”
The world ends, and the people wait for someone to show them how to change.
He’ll be beautiful, and terrible. He’ll burn.
The people believe.
And a beautiful boy comes along, and his eyes glitter. There’s a cynic half a step behind him, and a poet at his side. He burns. And he tells them, “I can show you how to be free.”
Freedom hurts. They’re free the way that wolves are, running bloody in the dark. He’s a beautiful boy with such sharp teeth and his poet with the flowers in his hair fears nothing and no one and his cynic doesn’t believe that anything is sacred, not life, not death, nothing. Only that this beautiful boy will change everything.
And he does.
They wanted an Olympus, every man a king, every man a god. They picked the wrong mountain. Parnassus means inspiration, means learning but nobody ever said what they’d be taught. Everybody forgot you could be inspired to do terrible things.
He has such ideas.
The world ends and they burn what’s left of it to the ground.