I was a poor boy; you were a bright light
I was a sinner and you were a snake
This is not exactly what he had imagined when he has first realized that he was waking up back in life, although he supposes this is what he deserves. He sighs, quietly, exhaling a breath that he had not even realizing that he had been holding. He doesn’t know why life continues to thrust him into these moments with Brunhilde when it is clear that she holds little love for him and he certainly doesn’t know why his first moment of coming back to life was stepping into the odd dynamic between the couple before him.
His lips quirk slightly when Brunhilde labels him a friend, but he doesn’t make a move to correct her. Instead he flicks his grey eyes to the dragon stallion, waiting to see if it was enough for him to drop the subject. He is not surprised to find that it’s not. Brigade is no stranger to cruelty and anger, although the kind that he harbors is so often directed inwardly that he has little experience with this man’s sadistic version of it. Still, it doesn’t reach below the surface or scrape at his insides; it illicit nothing at all.
“I mean nothing to pretty much everyone,” he says with a cold smile, “and they mean nothing to me.”
It was the only way that he was able to get through this world, the lying. The lying to others and, mostly, the lying to himself. The constant ways he tells himself that he has no impact and that others leave no impact on him. His face still carefully neutral, he sweeps his gaze over to Brunhilde, letting it linger for a second and wondering why he felt a strange sense of protectiveness and concern over a mare who would rather leave him to die than have a second of decent conversation with him.
He shrugs internally though and remains rooted to the spot, wondering if she could see through the lies, if she could see how it was safer for him to say she meant nothing even if that wasn’t entirely the truth.
shook like some old souls when our bones broke
swallowed the sickness, a fever, a flame
