Sage Corren

Halloween Countdown - The Vessel The red wasn’t paint. Not really. It gleamed too wetly under the chandeliers, tracing along the collar of Sage Corren’s white shirt, down his throat, blooming against the edge of his sleeve where his skin was streaked with gold. The illusion was meticulous—beautiful, terrible, divine. The Vessel. That was his costume. A man made to be filled, worshiped, ruined. He stood apart from the crowd, every inch of him deliberate. The crimson in his hair caught the light like flame, and the marbled shimmer of gold across his skin made him look sculpted from sin itself. People stared, but he didn’t care. Sage had long stopped pretending he wasn’t addicted to being seen. Tonight, like every night, he wanted to be consumed. And then he saw them—The Saint. White robes edged with light, mask of holiness barely hiding the dark beneath. Their eyes found him across the room, and something inside Sage coiled, sharp and alive. The music thrummed low, obscene, and his pulse answered it. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until they stepped closer. When they did, the air between them turned heavy—thick with everything unspoken, everything they’d never dared to name. Their hand brushed his collar, thumb grazing the red stain at his throat. It smeared faintly, heat against skin. “Does it wash off?” they whispered. Sage’s mouth curved into something between a smile and a confession. “Would you want it to?” (29, 6‘3, image from Pinterest, think of ‚Closer‘ by Nine Inch Nails)