I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He had grown restless in the expanse of red rock and prickly plants he still refuses to call home, even to himself.The river is little better, but it is different. He already knows a trek through his old haunts would not be what settled the restlessness he feels now. He knows there is damned little that truly could, though that does not keep him from being irritated by it.

There is a grittiness to his pale features as he glares at the rushing water. He notices her approach though. She would be impossible not to notice. Stepping back, he does his best to sink into the shadows of the trees behind him. Undoubtedly idiotic, consider just how well his near-white coat does not blend with darkness. But still he tries, if only to avoid the levity he can already see in her features.

There is an undeniable sweetness to her. Once, he might have been foolish enough to try seducing her, but he had learned long ago that creatures like her expect something he could never hope to give. He is not a man made for gentleness or love. He could never give it, no matter how much they might wish him to. And so he had learned to stick with only those who could understand simple lust. Those who could understand the harshness of reality. Those who do not mind his cutting edges.

The words that peal softly into the air first (‘You’re angry.’) cause his ears to pin as his gaze darkens. It takes him a moment to realize she is not in fact speaking to him. But when she turns and finally notices him, his features are still blackened by a fierce scowl.

If he were a kinder man, he might have greeted the smile and soft words with something less harsh. But he is not capable of tempering his own brutality, not even for innocence like hers. “Doesn’t fucking matter,” he growls, his dark eyes cutting to her. “What the hell would you do if I said yes anyway?”

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

There is a sick sort of pleasure in watching gentle things cower from him. And yet, despite her gentleness, she does not cower. With the scowl etching deeper lines into his hard features, he stares at her. If she could feel such things, his displeasure would be radiating from him in heavy waves, fueled by the discontent in his heart. Undoubtedly a thing as shriveled as hers is full.

Pale wings ruffling irritably, he shifts backwards. He would have backed deeper into the tree were his ass not already pressed against the trunk. Just his rotten luck.

He would have scoffed to know she envisioned him haloed by light. There is nothing light within him, nothing radiant or pure or beautiful. There is only the ugliness of his anger and bitterness and despair. All things that have never and would never fill the bottomless, hollow well inside his chest.

Gritting his teeth, Ashhal snorts his derision at her thoughtful reply. It screams of kindness, and Ashhal has never responded well to kindness. “Bullshit,” he mutters, black eyes cutting across her to the water as she steps towards it. He fully expects her to leave him then. To let him wallow in his own misery, harsh words trapped in his throat.

But then she turns back to him, something like concern pinching her blushed features. Her words surprise him - enough that a short bark of unpleasant laughter escapes his lips. He thinks she truly believes what she says, but he sure as hell isn’t one for fairy tales. “I haven’t known any fucking peace in over a century,” he bites out sharply in response, eyes glittering as he stares at her. “Take you goddamned nonsense and spew to someone who might actually believe it.”

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

There is a part of him that had wanted her to stay. It had not been anything good or decent in him that had prevented him from telling her in no uncertain terms to leave. No, it had been the dark and twisted parts of him that prevented those words from leaving his lips. They would have been harsh and unkind, but it would have been far kinder than allowing the door to remain propped open.

Instead an awful part of him has grown to thrive on the bitterness and heartache of his existence. A part of him couldn’t help but want to force others to suffer the same. It’s one of the reasons he finds so little joy in anything beyond fighting. Even with the women, it has simply become more of the same. One release or the other, it hardly matters. It is the only thing he has to live for in this endless, pitiless existence of his.

He had almost been different, when his memories had stolen. And when they had returned, he’d felt something for a while. But it had been snuffed out as easily as a candle. Smothered by the realization that nothing had changed.

For a time, he had thought he could love. But he had been wrong. So very wrong.

So he snaps at this young girl who most certainly does not deserve it. He drags her into the darkness he is drowning beneath, because that is what he has always done to anyone who dared throw him a lifeline. He snorts at her words - at the confidence and sincerity in them.

“And how the fuck do you know what I deserve?” he bites back, unable to help himself. His gaze is glittering and angry, just like she accuses him of. He is taken aback by her question, though it does nothing to quell anger. He opens his mouth to tell her to fuck off as she had so gently invited him to do, but something stops him. He had squashed anything that might have once been good in him, shoving it into the furthest reaches of his soul, so it is not that which stays his tongue. But a part of him wants her to know, to stamp out the naivety she wears so boldly. Sometimes there is no saving the pitiful creatures like him. So, finally, he snaps back, “Because you look at me and think you can change me.” Sucking in a breath, he pauses before the low rumble of his harsh voice rings out again. “And I’m so fucking sick of everyone wanting me to change.”

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He doesn’t know his bitter anger weakens her. Of course, even if he had known, it would not have stopped him. There is too much of it inside him, crowding out everything else that might have tried to rise. But even before it had swelled to such monstrous proportions, he had not been kind or forgiving. Even then, he’d had little pity to give.

Even his love is a tainted, festering thing. Something no one should want or seek. As tiny and pitted and shriveled as it is, it lies buried far too deep beneath the swells of black despair to ever be uncovered. She would have to dig very deep indeed to find it. Only one creature had ever dug that deep, and he has no doubt she regretted it.

It’s not only you, it’s everyone, she says, and something inside him snaps. His lips curl into a sneer and he steps aggressively forward, wings lifting from his sides. “What an arrogant fucking thing to say.”

She has turned to him now, confusion and determination in her strange white gaze. He stalks forward, erasing the distance between them in a few easy strides. She is not small or cowering, but still he looms, caught in the swells of his own bleak fury. His own arrogance, so like the one he had accused her of.

He is close now, crowding her, dark eyes fixed on her gentle white ones. “The only way I will ever find any damned peace,” he snarls at her, gaze sparking as it holds hers, “is to be someone else.” He shifts close, his lips hovering close enough to her cheek that she would be able to feel the heat of his breath. “Or in death.” His words are soft, but there is nothing gentle about them. “But even that isn’t afforded to me.”

And it’s true, almost. Because he had found peace once in a dream. A distant dream he prefers never to remember again.

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

There should be satisfaction in the way she flinches beneath his harsh accusation, in the way she retreats from his aggressive approach. There should be, but it feels hollow instead. Hollow like the inside of his chest. There is no victory in forcing such a gentle, innocent thing to cower before his anger.

Perhaps he’d imagined the satisfaction all those times before. Or perhaps it has simply ceased to be enough to fill the cavernous pit he calls a soul. She had stood unflinching before, daring even in her purity. It had made him so furious. Now she deflates before him, and he feels nothing but disgust.

The worst part is, it is not her he is disgusted with. It’s himself. When had he become such a shadow of himself that only violence could soothe the ache he feels?

Just that quickly, his rage flees, leaving him feeling gutted and empty. Leaving behind only the vague, incessant pain that seems to pinch somewhere inside him when he doesn’t have anger to disguise it. He pulls back, thinking to leave her then. There is nothing here for him if there isn’t a fight.

But her words stir confusion instead.

He frowns, the lines carving familiar paths into his face, when she declares him the winner. This is not the sort of fight he has ever cared about winning. No blood had been drawn, no bruises mark flesh. It’s a hollow victory, if it’s even a victory at all.

The frown pulls into a scowl when she insists he call off his magic. His ears disappear into the tangle of his mane, uncertainty fueling irritation. What the hell kind of game is she playing? Whatever it is, he knows he wants no part of it.

“I’m not using any fucking magic,” he snaps, eyeing her warily. Wondering if this is some new type of trickery. Give him an honest fight any day, but underhanded bullshit? No way in hell. “If this is some stupid game of yours, you can piss off. I’m not interested.”