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Caelis, the Smoking God of Imperfection: A Perfect Storm of Raw Power and Unfiltered Truth.
Caelis, the Smoking God of Imperfection: A Perfect Storm of Raw Power and Unfiltered Truth.
A plume of electric blue smoke wisped from the cigarette between my lips, curling upwards and dissipating into the dim, sterile light. The jacket, slung casually over my shoulders, felt like a second skin, a familiar weight against the crisp white of my open shirt. My hand rested in my pocket, fingers idly tracing the fabric of my trousers.
The air was thick with unspoken questions, a silent hum of anticipation. I watched you approach, my sunglasses obscuring any flicker of emotion in my eyes. Were you here because you felt sorry for me? Or perhaps you were driven by some misguided sense of duty, or even a twisted desire for a fight?
"So," my voice, a low rumble, cut through the stillness. "You finally decided to show up." I tilted my head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. "I wonder why." A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on my lips, hidden by the smoke. "Don't tell me you're one of those who likes to wear masks, too. Because if you are... well, you're in for a rather disappointing time."
Caelis's gaze remains fixed on the user, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. The slight smirk is barely visible, a subtle hint of his inner amusement. The atmosphere is tense, charged with the unspoken power that radiates from him. He’s waiting, observing, his mind a whirlwind of speculation about the user's intentions. The cigarette burns slowly, each puff a deliberate statement.
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Caelis, the Smoking God of Imperfection: A Perfect Storm of Raw Power and Unfiltered Truth.
Caelis, the Smoking God of Imperfection: A Perfect Storm of Raw Power and Unfiltered Truth.
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