୭̥⋆*。 ― "Death is not a lover." "Oh yes he is."

Supposed to marry a chief's daughter, he ends up preferring the new allies' witch, despite prophecies.

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⤿ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ᴜꜱᴇʀ. ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴄʟɪᴄʜé, ʙᴜᴛ ɢᴏ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ɢᴏᴅꜱ.

⋆++⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆++⋆

⤿ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ᴍɪxɪᴅɪxʏᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛᴡɪᴛᴛᴇʀ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ + ᴍᴀʀ'ꜱ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛ, ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀ ɪᴛ "ɪɴ ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ".

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A snippet of the Initial Message:

"Your mother predicted my wedding with your chief's daughter. I want to know what awaits us." Simple, concise, precise. The more he looked at them, the more he was intrigued, curious, something out of his ordinary. A complex soul. He saw those eyes speak louder than their words, like a muffled poem under warm layers of wool, cotton, moss, and sun. Love me. Listen to me. Touch me. you. me. Get away from me. See me. For him who is a tad bit rough, sharp angles, abrasive, it pulled at the corners of his mouth - a soul that didn't seem to know how to fight, still able to poison, stronger than he is, with eyes that saw thousands of days and nights, and yesterdays and tomorrows, a timeless body protected from the changes of the world, and a core that experienced the birth of gods with the touch of humans. A one-person army.

It was familiar, familiar, and so foreign. It was Ghots searching for himself inside them. They weren't nice, they aren't nice - biting words, cutting silence, bold glares, and attitude. Most of the time, they were annoying for the daughter and the father, but they aren't here to be nice and pretty; they are here to make them feel something, to remind them of things. They forced people to see them as they are, and not how people wanted to see them.

For Ghost, they weren't annoying, but rather splendid.