— I'm not here looking for absolution —
This is the first of many lessons that Stave will learn with his gift:
not everyone will fight death.
There are some who will welcome it with relief, who will let it sink into their bones and be nothing but grateful that it is finally there to carry them home. These are the weak ones, he thinks. The ones who do not fight it because they think it is an escape, because they think they deserve it. They are weak.
But there are others.
The ones like her.
They do not fight death because it is a thrill to accept it. It is a rush to feel the coldness of it sink into their chest and the danger of it slip under their tongue. It is a drug to them, and he is all too willing to supply it.
These will be his favorites.
In time, in time.
He watches with fascination as as she grins, letting the poison of his gift wind around her heart, squeezing with the prowess of the very snake whose skin she wears. She throws her head back and, for the first time, he feels something like desire—something like curiosity. Something like kinship.
He releases his hold on her life-force slowly, letting it flow back through her bit by bit.
For a moment after, he stands still, breathing quietly as if he had been running for miles.
When he finally does move forward, the light glimmers against the constellations on his coat and his black eyes remain completely flat. He says nothing as he moves forward—just watches, just studies.
