violence
She is curious at straightforwardness of his tone. Most, she thinks, might mourn a dead parent, especially given the circumstances of her death, her sacrifice. Violence thinks, for a moment, of her own mother, all sharp-features and shadows. Cthylla would have done no such thing for her, she knows. If Cthylla had ever loved Violence, she certainly had not shown it. It had not been the way, in their strange family, aliens and magicians. A pack, operating for survival.
Not that this bothered her. She had not wanted her mother’s love, had not known it was a thing some wanted. She had wanted her magic – had begged her mother to transform her, to make her more powerful – but Cthylla had refused, and Violence had resented her for the refusal.
Of course, she was born plenty powerful, but she’d always wanted more.
She listens to his next query, nods. Some might ask why, look for reasons in why the man would want to return to a wretched, haunted place, but Violence does not. She understands, and wonders too, albeit for different reasons. She wonders what she could pull from such a place, the souls and bones left there.
“What would you do,” she asks, “if you could? Would you go back?”
Would you face your monster, your demons?
She wonders if the creature is still there, haunting the place. Feasting. She wonders if she could possess such a thing.
these violent delights bring violent ends
@[Clegane]