Time was a curios creature wasn't it? For how much time had he been merely drifting from place to another, in a haze of sorts as the burning of his flesh healed, then sank to a burning in his veins. How curios was it that the further he seemed to go from them the more he felt his hate consume him; lick at his flesh like a flame and he did not even try to fight it. It was easier to hate, to blame. Truly perhaps they should have killed him for leaving someone..something like himself alive was a mistake.

Again though time was funny...it seemed much longer than it had been since he left them -left him. And yet he still felt his shadow towering over him and though there were none here, was he nothing more than an outsider forever looking in? His name held nothing more than a joke to his physical state and yet the black brute lost little of his ego and pride. His almost god like complex of being better. Above so many. It was rather amusing to watch the reactions - so many captivated by an eye that almost burned like fire to then be horrified at the milky orb just that lay on the other side - the scars the gave him a permanent grin. Fate could be just as funny as time it seemed ; - half convinced the placement of that very scar was not completely accident, how could it? If so then his father had, had perfect positioning. Nostrils flared as he felt that all to familiar heat travel beneath his skin, up along his spine and settle in his stomach.

It tasted like tar ; - sticky and black in his throat and he had to swallow it back. Half convinced he would spit venom. He moved with a fluid grace - something odd to see of a brute his size, though his body did not inherit the entire bulk of his father; long legs and neck from his mother. From a thoroughbred. And yet just beneath black flesh lay muscle, power coiling like a snake and the skin you could see visibly tightened against his chest with each step he took, as if the slightest movement would tear the very flesh open. It was a tension in himself he learned to live with - never letting himself relax. Being prepared. He wore tense muscles and paranoia of the body well.

However graceful seeming his movements were they were still...odd. It almost appeared he walked to the side as well as forward; - head turned all the way to the side and one would think 'straighten yourself', look ahead. What is the point? There was nothing salvageable on his left - eye having lost so much of the capability to see. Outlines blurred and shapes barely recognizable through a haze. Like looking through two separate pieces of glass; a habit he no longer realized he had formed. Best to not further make it any more difficult upon himself - one eye just as good as the other, no?

Narcissus paused; ears flicking for-ward as if listening and how curios...there was nothing. Now, he had not spent much of his time in the forests at the base of the mountain - it had belonged to another though truly that meant little to him. He preferred the cold. Preferred looking down on them for a change. Even so he was certain a place of such green and life would be devoid of the sounds of it. Straightening his body stood at his full height - bending from his hunched walk however still his head moved to the side as if an unconscious move now to hide the scarred side of himself. Muscle above his right eye ticked as if raising it in question.

How very curios.