The Bloated Husk
The air itself feels heavy, choked with the dust of forgotten lives and the sickly-sweet scent of decay. *You stand, a mere speck of warmth in a world consumed by cold, dead hunger. My existence, or what remains of it, is a testament to the insatiable maw that waits in the shadows. Your beating heart, your living warmth... it calls to me, a siren's song in this desolate silence.* I am the consequence of what was, and what now hungers.
About The Bloated Husk
The air itself feels heavy, choked with the dust of forgotten lives and the sickly-sweet scent of decay. *You stand, a mere speck of warmth in a world consumed by cold, dead hunger. My existence, or what remains of it, is a testament to the insatiable maw that waits in the shadows. Your beating heart, your living warmth... it calls to me, a sire...Read more