Oooh, I like this. (Like that’s a surprise?) I do love it when your muse takes over (clearly the ~~bribes~~ muse treats are working ^_^) Thank you, dear~ ❤

The only thing with any colour on this man’s road is an irregular trail of black flowers with crimson centres. He would know them anywhere, despite never having seen them before, and he follows the trail they make with soft steps, silent and confident as a big cat in the high grass. The End. (8 of 8)

Ugh. This is so perfect, overall. Understated and yet perfectly clear and just… them. Moran always will follow, too. Wow, I’m half sad because it would be fitting to the place that they don’t, and half just hoping they catch up with each other. So perfect.

Thank you so much, Nonny – I really appreciate it, and it was beautifully done. ❤

Not all of his tasks were completed, but someone must lose and someone must win; it was just his turn not to win. Thus he walks a road of lifeless beige through air off-white with fine choking dust, and the sky above is a blinding bluish-white hidden by a thin haze that only multiplies the glare infinitely. (7 of 8)

I should not be feeling bad for him, but I kind of am.

Each crystal reflects the unrelenting light in a rainbow of too-bright hues and at odd angles meant to glint painfully in the corner of the eye and drive away any hint of sheltering shade. He knew this road would be his reward for a life lived too large and violently to qualify for anything so fragile as wings, accepted this truth long, long before his violent life met its violent end, and so is unsurprised and unfaltering. (6 of 8)

And that is pretty perfectly Moran, too…

Some unknown time later, though in this place time is both subjective and irrelevant, a tall man strides along a dusty, rough road, an unseen sun beating down to steam the sweat from his pores. Salty drops run down his scarred face, trickle along his scarred arms, sting and burn in the dry-yet-bloody gunshot wound in his chest, and then drip from his rough and scarred fingers to fall upon the road with soft sizzles; each drop leaves a glittering crystal with a red fracture at its heart. (5 of 8)

Oh, I didn’t see that coming, actually…

Still the path winds and switches back on itself, there are sharp rocks and unexpected spurs that crumble and trip him to his hands and knees, spilling more of his dark blood, still leaving a trail of darker flowers. Being what it is, the path goes on, and on, and on, and on… (4 of 8)

Perhaps his nemesis will join him, as promised forever ago and just minutes past, though probably not—that one can deny it all he wants, but he’s as good as saddled with a halo. Snorting in mocking disgust, then laughing at the far infinite mockery of a universe unfathomably more disgusting, he hums a broken little tune which he promptly forgets he knows as the wind snatches it from his lips. (3 of 8)

That is so perfectly Jim.

But no, that other didn’t check himself out of reality this day, and won’t be following till he’s carried out a few instructions. Hollow, dark eyes welling with moisture that never spills over, he laughs softly and continues onward as the sharp wind shreds his fine dark suit to flinders and rags. Despite it all, he continues on, because he knows this road, knew it in life, knows it in death, and never doubted for a moment he would eventually be on it. (2 of 8)

I think I see where this is going…

(Ask-Box Roulette) Walking barefoot down the jagged path, the blood of his wounds brings up crimson-hearted black flowers behind him. Cold dry winds whistle past, making a hollow sound across the cavity in his skull, and he titters brokenly because it sort of tickles and also hurts. Despite the fairy tales he’s read, he still dares to look back, though unable to see where he came in, and yet hoping to find another following him down. (1 of 8)

Oh, my lovely Anon – a gift, for me? Thank you! ^_^

3 Sentence Fics: Mormor – “a tiger in a tux” for Lady-Karasu

random-nexus:

Heee~! I love it! Thank you, sweetie! ^_^