— I'm not here looking for absolution —
In some odd way, he supposes that she is an even match for him.
She is not as sweet as his sister—not as precious to him, although he would never admit such things—and not as powerful as him—although no one is, to him at least. But there is something that echoes back at him in the delight in her eyes at the prospect of death, something of her hunger that he recognizes as his own. It is enough to keep him from pulling on the threads of her life again. Enough to keep her around.
His deadened eyes sweep to the fangs at her lips and linger, wondering at the poison that must drip from them, at the wondrous, slow death that she must inflict. Would it hurt more than his own brand? Would he feel it slip through his veins? It is a fascinating proposal and he considers asking to try—just a sip of the toxins—but refrains, refusing to ask for anything. Refusing to be anything but the giver of death.
“I don’t promise anything,” he says with a cold smile, but he finds himself warming to her in a strange way, content to know that she has been one of the first to experience his gift and appreciate it. “But if you find me tomorrow, perhaps we will see.” There’s a whisper of something that shadows his lips but it never quite lands and without any further explanation, he begins to turn away, slipping back into the shadows.
