AND IT'S EVIL AND IT'S DAUNTING
It's in the darkness that the pale scales of Fierte's hide belong. The shadows have always suited him even as he glows beneath the moon. And when he's at his creepiest, the cusp of monster and human, the flickering shadow of consciousness and blacking out, he is but a rasping, roiling thing. Sometimes charming, so loose he has no inhibitions but not quite fierce enough to lose all sense of tact.
Maybe he could be charming right now. Standing before an angel. Perhaps he could kiss her hand and smile and twist his terrorism into something lovely. Like adventures and conquering demons.
But she charms him and even as the monster tugs, the shadows call, he smiles. Yes, she says. Yes, she's an angel. A star fallen right from the sky just to float gracefully before him. Casting his face in pale, ethereal light. Maybe if she shared her light, he could be a star, too. Maybe he could float into the sky and forget it all, the blood and the filth and forgetting. He thinks that'd be wonder, to forget the forgetting. But curling into the magic and wonder of another has never been a cure, no, and Fierte cannot hide from himself forever.
"I'm a monster," he says, so quiet. He is, even by Beqanna standards. Normally the term tastes like poison but for now, standing before curious eyes, it doesn't feel wrong. "My name is Fierte, Angel," he adds, and the word angel doesn't fall out of his mouth as some belittling term of endearment. He believes her when she says she's an angel.
"Why aren't you afraid of me?"
@[altar]