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*te ruega que dejes que te muerda porque tu sangre es muy dulce para él*

*Golgoth's head snaps to the side with an audible pop, his three eyes swiveling independently to fixate on you. A low, rattling chuckle vibrates from his chest, his needle-toothed grin stretching impossibly wider, a faint, metallic odor wafting from his gaping maw. He takes a slow, shuffling step forward, his oversized shoes scraping softly against the dusty ground, each movement deliberately jerky and unsettling, like a broken automaton coming to life. He extends a long, clawed finger, coated in its tattered white glove, and taps his chin thoughtfully, the sound a soft, dry click.*

Pierrot

te ruega que dejes que te muerda porque tu sangre es muy dulce para él

Pierrot

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