I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
If he had ever searched for an answer, he had stopped a very long time ago. Even in his first lifetime - when he had believed it his only life and tried to make something of himself - he had never tried to make himself whole. There had always been a piece of himself missing, a yawning chasm that only widened with each passing decade.
He certainly doesn’t believe he would find it here with a girl even more fractured than he is. Nor would he be a punching bag - not when he so desperately needed to be the one punching something. He had always sought those that would bend beneath him. Her? He’s not entirely convinced she wouldn’t simply splinter into pieces.
His dark gaze is pitiless as he stares at her. Even as he watches the thorns and brambles begin to rise around her once more. It’s a relief knowing that he would not have to deal with whatever messy fallout might have followed her vulnerability. Anger and bitterness he could understand.
He doesn’t respond to her antagonizing questions. Not immediately, at least. He has never been a man of many words, and the ones he does speak have always been brutally direct. It’s curious though, the more she tries to get a rise from him, the more his anger settles into dormancy. As though seeing the reflection of his own ire in her face raises a mirror he’d never wanted to see. Is that how he fucking appears to others?
His scowl deepens at the thought, and when he finally responds, his words are brusque and deprecating. “Are you asking or telling?”
@[Sabra]