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She mustn’t belong anywhere – this creature with tainted blood, with angelic features that were so lovable… and yet it was clear she’d been scorned. His eyes, they seen her now as he considered her. They rested on her levelly as he considered her offer, as he fathomed her explanations of her group of misfits. They had to be if they accepted her, Ophelia the mutt. He cared little about this world’s wars, their idiocy and proclamations of supremacy: horned, plain, winged… they all lived and breathed. They all bled red when slaughtered. He was a misfit – a shadow that skulked with the hope that he was never noticed, a riffraff that couldn’t even keep love when he’d had it. Yes. He belonged with Ophelia… and this Ktulu.
He could be loved by the unlovable. - and they’ll break you all over again!’ And he, Revenant, could only be described as a glutton for punishment if that were true – a masochist.
”I’ve always had an affinity for learning.” Monotonously he conceded to her, was snared by the jewel that enraptured him with prettiness he dare not acknowledge (he should covet nothing)… and declarations of an honorable cause, a purpose. Perhaps that was what had been absent in him all of this time? Leaving the dark gentleman like a carved pumpkin – hollow and only illuminated by a flame fed to him by another.
It would ease his heartache and bully the memories of Atalanta away.
His head was lowered to her and he closed his pale eyes, breathing a heavy sigh. His bone-like horn was pointed at her heart, one he believed to be full of sincerity but still mortal… still capable of becoming such a dark rotten prune like his ex lover’s. He would be a fool not to be wary of her too, pretty or not, tainted or not. She could devastate him. ”Shall we go, my dear?” He asked her without pantomime expression – a drone he was, a drone he’d always be.
Broken. Broken. Broken.
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