The Better of Two Evils

The Story:
The Story


Kyou Hair – Tableau Vivant IW / MP Available at the November round of We Role-Play. Click here to peruse the shopping guide for this event. Open as of November 4th at 3 p.m. SLT. Teleport to event.


Tudor Necklace – Meva IW This is an item for the Fantasy Gacha Carnival, opening on November 7th at midnight SLT. Click here to visit the event websiteTeleport to event. 

Cat Companion:

Bette and Dot – Black Decor (Pet Cemetery Gacha) – Fawny IW Available at the October round of The Fantasy Collective, open as of October 22nd at Noon SLT and running through November 15th. Teleport to event


Hotel Paranoia Skybox RARE – Remarkable Oblivion IW / MP


Hotel Paranoia Bed of Roses – Remarkable Oblivion IW / MP

The Better of Two Evils

Better of Two Evils

The Fashion Details

The human world is such a strange place. Composed of greed, of shades of darkness and crimson it rests as an eternally held breath, the ache of lungs which can never truly find relief within what is found upon the air. While not his first venture into such wilds, it never ceases to amaze him. There is such envy among its people, shrouded behind gashes called smiles and the glint of teeth which prove anything but sincere. Power is a lusted after thing, and man will conquer friend with both words and silence while enemies are treated like royals seated about a banquet which serves only poison.

“It is a curious thing.” He murmurs as he presses his shoulders back against the bed. The fabric which scratches against that pale bare skin is something of poor quality, as though humans either never learned the fine practice of the loom or felt such rich things were worthy only of their elite. There is the creak of wood beneath his foot as his weight presses against that makeshift prop and his head tilts back. A wash of snow slithers behind him to rest upon the dusky, mottled hues of the fabric meticulously spread across the bed at his back. “You abolish your crowns in all but symbol and yet upon the streets of your city there rest men with more influence than kings.” He turns a luminescent, pale stare to his companion as though awaiting a response. When silence is all that fills the air his chin tilts, his gaze turns upward to the cracked, water-damaged ceiling once more.

A storm rages outside, pelts its fruitless rage upon the window glass to his right. There is something soothing about that sound. There are things which remain constants between one world and the next. Rain, the fury of nature, the guardianship of glass, stone and wood fall within that comforting realm. This room itself is scented of something visceral and pervading in nature, freshly minted coins mingling with the wet of something newly spilled. He breathes deeply of it, the fragrance of cheap cologne threading its way through the realism of that aroma. Another shift possesses an angular frame, the sigh of metal upon metal as silvered talons brush one against another in idle gesture. Somewhere in the distance, gears turn and disrupt such muted silence with a persistent tick.

“In my world, we do not wear such masks.” He continues on to his quiet companion. “Our cities do not hold the stink of your streets, our people do not hide behind false smiles. There is honor in our intentions and if the man within the alley is worthy of a crown, it is seen upon his brow.” Elongated fingers lift then as though to touch something lying against his own forehead and then fall away without completing the gesture. “You humans are a fascinating species, and you are beautiful in your own way.” His tone turns something musing, a cadence composed of thick, sweet honey spilled slowly across dark velvet. “I have oft wondered if perhaps your faults exist due to the haste with which you are molded, the limitations of a glimmer constituting life. You live vibrantly…” His eyes cut to the side, pass over the prominent rise and curve lying beneath the carefully arranged bed clothing. “…albeit foolishly at times.”

That lean frame unfolds with a grace which borders upon the ethereal, something seen but incapable of being touched. He is tall, a startling pale contrast to the darkness of the room around him. He seems to reflect the light of something internalized, the pallor of starlight where it glows through a twilight haze. Everything of him is white and jarring to the surrounding atmosphere as bare feet move casually across the space, a streak of scarlet marring such alabaster perfection as his toes dip into the dark, congealing pool spreading out across the floor. He pauses at the table and its various contents, swipes one slender digit through lines of pale powder meticulously arranged upon its scarred surface. He touches that substance to the tip of his tongue thoughtfully before he turns to regard the bed and its silent occupant once more. “It is a pity.” His voice slides through the room like darkness turned life, as though the syllables themselves pull at the shadows decorating the corners and draw them closer to himself. “I had wished to discover your secrets; to see what it was that created power within such men as yourself. It is unfortunate you chose to challenge me instead.” His steps are silent and nearly gliding in their nature as he moves lightly across the floor. He leans over the bed then, his voice turning intimate as his fingers caress affectionately across the coverlet and what lies beneath. “Where I come from, I am a king.” Those silvered talons scrape along rough fabric. “So, you see, if I had denied your challenge it would have been dishonorable…and my people are always honorable. We leave dishonor to what walks the light of day.” Is there amusement in his voice? Perhaps. “It is just as well you were unable to best me in combat. How unfortunate it would be for my people if my crown fell to a creature whose life would last the fraction of a breath, extinguished in the blink of an eye.”

He reaches across the rise upon the bed and withdraws a singular dagger, ornate and lovely in its composition, tucking it into his belt. His cadence turns then as he speaks to the room’s other occupant. Something purring enters his tone, the hint of something less than human and more than man. “Let us go home, my pet. We will return soon.” Something soft and trilling carries from the darkness as sound, a shape separating from its depths to wind along and between his ankles.

He moves, then, toward the only exit which rests within the space, calling back in near afterthought to the corpse upon the bed. Perhaps he is unaware that the dead in this place can hear no tales, can sing no songs. “The drugs, the sex, the blood however. Those are quite…pleasant.” The closing of a door, a chapter, as the shadows left within grow and merge into something breathing and tactile to feast upon the offering left by such an illuminating master.