boy what's normal to you? 'cause that sure ain't normal to me.

Once of sunlight and spirit, Litotes is now a ragged thing. He reeks of downtrodden and rotten dreams, black shadows twisting angrily around his belly. He smiles to himself, though. Even through what emptiness he has found so prevalent in his heart, he smiles.

They are the teeth of a predator, those cruel things glittering in his mouth. And when he smiles it is void of emotion, like the way an artist can never truly catch the life of an eye. He tries to perfect this facade, one of quiet solitude and strength; but the truth is that the stronghold he held in his chest for so long has crumbled, and what demons he kept at bay have eaten him from the inside out.

It will not be long before he resembles an undead thing, a creature of the underworld.

Litotes finds that his crown is hollow yet heavy, void of meaning and wealth. In Pangea he rules, the kingdom he once felt such pride and stoic admiration for now lackluster and barren.

He misses his people, his Kensa, his children.

Alone, so utterly alone—how else can he define himself?

Amongst the red clay ruins of his world, he wonders, dust tinting the pale cremello of his hide red.

and if i fall would you know that to do?
and if i'm caught up would you stay?

boy what's normal to you? 'cause that sure ain't normal to me.

Litotes’ mother once told him that her love for him is like a river, raging and dangerous but not infallible. He did not know what she meant then, with those eyes so full of sorrow when they turned upon his wayward father. Looking back, the cremello knows that she must have seen what future was before him, as some wonderful mothers do. A weak smile curls his lips when he thinks of her weary face. He wonders if she would be ashamed of the job he has done with his children. Being an only child (on his mother’s side) spoiled him and taught him almost nothing of love that can stretch itself thin.

And incredibly thin has Litotes stretched himself.

That choking disappointment in himself takes his breath away at the sight of his pale daughter. He slowly turns to face her, eyes darkening with conflicting emotions. He settles on resignation and hesitant affection. He leans forward to brush his nose against her cheek, the movement so gentle and shy that he feels embarrassed. A father should never feel so uncertain of his daughter; yet, here he stands, before a child he has hardly seen and a reminder of a woman he may never have.

“Altissima,” he breaths out as he draws away, eyes now welling with unbidden love. “I have missed you.” She may not believe him, but he has, just as he misses every opportunity he lets float by him. In this case, the opportunities to show his daughter he cares for her slipped by quickly and harshly—so swift that he is not sure of how she has grown into the girl before him.

“Come,” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely behind him to a semi-underground spring. “I need a drink, and you can tell me how you’ve been on the way.”

and if i fall would you know that to do?
and if i'm caught up would you stay?