"Where are we?"       He looked confused. His eyes widened. He wasn't sure if he had ever been there. He tried to concentrate. Like was he dreaming? He couldn't be sure. He had never felt such urge neither had he savored such aroma of such moment. He hated being confused. He could kill for it. He had killed for it. He had punished for it. He had marred for it. He had done quite the numbers of things for it and would keep to such. He didn't know what was going on and didn't know how to figure out. That was way complicated. If there was another word for that, of course he would say. If there was another qualitative pull to it or semantic denotations, he would had embraced it. He looked hastily around. Yea! They were all there. Was he dreaming? No of course. He had been in the arena. The crazy arena. The mystery arena. The lofty offshoot of contemplation. He didn't want that to have the best part of him. He

     "Medusa guide this."        He knew that that was a stray. That was no actually what he wanted to say. He had never believed in any spiritual being and wouldn't start at that moment. He allowed his mental ken to expand. Twas porous and could absorb facts which were remote. He didn't have much time to entertain guesses. He would be bent on other things but that. The lad was not getting it. He was sure that the lad would never make meaning of such stances time had supplanted. He was the only one acquainted with the malady and of course, he would attend to it. Twas worth fixing, he wouldn't hold back. His pain was about to be channeled. His rage about to be soothed. He was at the prime of attaining the hoisted heights he had longed for and he could feel it. It could feel the rays of contentment flickering over his consciousness. He didn't want to be bewitched. He simply needed to act. Acting was the

      "Not too bad for a monarch."       He knew he was getting more patient than he used to be. He had no idea what was happening to him. His thoughts should be raging. His instinct should be quaking. His rage should be rent and his ire be supplanted. He had no idea why he was being as cool. That was more than a little bit faker skin of himself. That was more of a mountain of odd parts wearing out his patience. He knew that there were quite the numbers of things he would not take. He was just being patient. Not because he was sane. He was scheming his plot. That was the thing he was skilled at. And he had gotten on it. The lady who was speaking seemed all saucy. Exactly like the Nymph. He didn't care how powerful or influential they were or could be. Didn't matter to him. He didn't care. What mattered to him had been extended. He was having his rage tamed for the meantime. He wouldn't continue being ruth

.       "Got an idea how we go here mate?"        He had obviously waited for that day. He had seriously pined for it that his muscles wrenched in porous pain. His passion even did quake in rage until then. But he hadn't thought of it under that circumstance. He had thought of it in a better place. But he could actually live on one at the expense of the other. He could keep his thought brooding as a specimen. He could live there at that moment for the time being with his leopard. He had missed it. And the two of them having to face the same odds was the best experience he had ever wished for. He was scanning his instinct whether or not there was anything stray there which could be harmful to either himself or the panther. That was the only creature he did care for. Aside that, he didn't care for any other. He didn't even know what care was. He didn't care what care was. His instinct was widening as he tri

"Tell me what's wrong. Tell me I'm not insane." He looked at the panther. He was glad that it could speak but he was yet confused. He was concealing his happiness. He didn't want to give it out so easily. He didn't want to put it out. He was being conscious of side attractions. He wanted his heart to register his state of mind. He didn't know how to achieve that. He was trying to figure out to no avail. He was kinda weary of trying but he was left with no choice. He was fiddling with his motive. He was fiddling with his instinct. Of course he owned himself and could do whatever he wanted with himelf. That was at least what he had exactly made himself believe. Twasnt a mill around his neck. He was sieving his options and taking chances. He was putting up with the odds and trailing the stance. He was making sure that he was bossing over the feeling. He didn't know for how long he would be able to filter the thoughts. He wasn't sure how long he would have to keep the ball rolling.