Showing a boyish grin, the Lord of Stories laughed.
"How am I likin' it? What a silly question, ya goof. It's been thirteen millennia since someone found me to narrate their story! Of course I'm lovin' it!" He tilted his head with the carefree curiosity of the little child he appeared to be. "So why've ye stopped? Go on, Samael Theosbane. Don't keep me waitin'!"
Samael rubbed the rough bristles on his chin and felt the stubble of dark black hair on his face, now grown thick enough almost to be called a proper beard.
It had been months since he had last shaved. And several more days since he had begun telling his story to this thoroughly bored god.
So it was hardly surprising his beard had grown this unruly… almost like his father, albeit a lot less groomed.
He dragged a hand slowly down his jaw and exhaled languidly. "I stopped because I'm thirsty. Do you know how long it has been since I tasted a sip of water—"
