He walked up to the altar and found your limp body on the floor. There was no blood, but your lips glowed blue. He grabbed the masks, absorbed them into his skin. The grapes met the same fate. After taking a brief moment to seemingly collect himself, he poked knelt down and poked your calf. Warmth radiated up your leg and settled around your thighs. The stark, cavernous room made your body look tiny, especially while a Herculean figure loomed over you.
He rose and walked to the furthest corner of the vaguely hexagonal room. His hands outstretched, grazed the wall in front of him, leaving grey streaks in their wake. Back and forth, his fingers caressed the wall, the streaks constantly expanding outwards from all sides.
You uttered a sigh, shifting your arms across your chest. He whipped his neck around to face you. He stalked over and kicked your head swiftly, ensuring to break your neck. The grey streaks had expanded, melded together and now formed a half sphere, bulging from the wall. It had nearly reached its glorious circumference. He reached in, to pull out a carafe of wine. Chuckling, he skipped over to your corpse, and spilled the wine into your mouth.
Lips still blue, your body then rose to meet him eye to eye, but you did not.