Rembrandt
The child reacts to something he cannot see and he instinctively casts a glance over his shoulder, gazing into the darkness. But nothing stirs there. It is just the two of them still, alone there on the bank of the river and his brow darkens in confusion as he returns his focus to her face as she retreats.
Changing?
He glances down at himself then, finds his flesh has turned even darker in these crushing shadows. There is no stirring of bone beneath the surface. His heart leaps against the cage of his ribs and he looks sharpy back up at her, forcing the spike of panic not to register on his face. He cannot feel the sinister forces that manipulate the magic that lives within him, the monsters that teem in the shadows that dip their evil fingers into his soul to contort the structure therein. But he will not allow himself to fear it.
“I don’t know,” he tells her, feigning nonchalance. He does not lie, but he does not let on how troubled he is by it either.
He shifts his weight, forcing himself to focus on the things she tells him so as to not dwell on the possible explanations for the changes in him. He swallows thickly, considering the things that might attack a child. The things that might have come back from the Afterlife. The things that Carnage might be responsible for.
He nods slowly in understanding, exhales.
“What are you doing out here by yourself, then? If there are monsters about and your own sister was attacked by one?”
FALLING FEELS LIKE FLYING UNTIL YOU HIT THE GROUND
@[Memorie]
@[The Monsters] please take his camouflage because i don't know how to spell it