A minimalist and a classicist. You've seen sacred Iberian frescoes by now, love. If you can't agree to their beauty, one must also forgive your judgment where my looks are concerned.

[ Midnight closes his eyes and tuts, but he puts the tip of a gold pinion to his lips softly before turning his face to Netzach's knee, crooning in response to the fingers in his hair. It's lovely. Netzach knows what he likes. Midnight is so very rarely known... ]

Everyone is supposed to die, my darling. Eventually. Usually.

[ Unless you're a vampire, or lived a millennium as a box. Outliers. ]