Cαλεβ ανδ Ηενριεττα

After they walked to the grave, a long silent walk, it became clear something had not only broken between them, but also glued them close. It was comparable how he felt, the nerves wracking through his body, knowing he was going to fuck this up more, knowing that with the wrong string of words, all his meticulously built facade and reveal the ugly, venomous, truth. He cringed at the thought of his naked emotions, all that he hid from the world, from everyone's critical eyes. Then she spoke, her angelic voice dragging him back to the present, grounding him.

She says a lot, and none of it is unheard, but he holds onto one specific sentence the most, holding onto it with a death-like grip. I named her Quinn. Caleb held those words, wishing they still held value. She is still Quinn, in every essence. She couldn't not be. The hybrid could not believe she was dead, part of him already longing for her back, a lifeless stranger. As the man looked on his laying counterpart, the hard creases of a constant scowl vanished and he looked like a colt old again, vulnerable to the world and it's cruelties, yet so naive. Caleb didn't know the world could fuck him over like this, rip his cold heart out of it's place, inject an iron sadness into his skeleton.

He couldn't speak, words lost to him completely. He looked upon Quinn's grade, all traces of youth lost once again. He looked ancient, tired and withdrawn. Then his lips and tongue form words, strange words, ones that are not of comfort nor cruelty, but air on the side of mandating Enna's graduation from Caleb. "I'm not the perfect other half for you, nor am I even an adequate counterpart." It's a murmur, a sickening quietness that steadily hovers over his words. "Enna, I'm not really an emotional horse, I don't feel like you do." The vague wording would no doubt lead to some confusion, perhaps curiosity, but he couldn't have said it better. "I'm upset she couldn't laugh for the first time, nor cry, love, lose, grow, do anything, but I don't feel the attachment you do." He shook his head, disappointed in himself. "I can't love, Enna, I never will be able to." Enna had loved this foal, but Caleb? He was just sad he didn't have a live child, but his heart did not break like hers does, nor does he weep as she does. So awkwardly, he stood, a statue, void of emotions and expression. Even his normally intense eyes carry a dull nothingness, the sort of thing psychopaths emerge from. Though it is certain, Caleb is no psychopath. And these cold eyes, they bore into Quinn's grave, look anywhere but Enna. Then, his entire body is screaming a desperate I'm sorry through that stone awkwardness.