Moonless nights equate to injecting wormwood into the inner canthus of his orbital flesh.
An iritic burning will culminate into a strength, built seemingly from months of torque and twisted to the likes of which most could never in their wildest hellish nightmares concoct.
Tears become blood and blood becomes fire. He looks up and no eyes can be found, only deep black and a shimmer of flame.
The waves of destruction that await whatever is in the path of his ocular range will show no deviation.
She will be at his back and her eyes will glisten in witness of her predecessors monolithic solar flare.
To which the ending will be marked by a waltz atop ash and cinder.
She is brave to look in the blackness of his eyes, but says four words to return the flame to tears.
“I love you, daddy..”