I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate.
A satisfaction settles deep within his chest as he inspects the gray filly. A satisfaction brought on by the knowledge that he is the only reason this particular child breathes, that this particular child exists. It cannot be called love, for he is not certain he is capable of love. Or even affection, for that matter. For him, the world is very narrow. The world is filled with only a mixture of pain and pleasure, with pain being the greater. Of satisfaction, or apathy, or ecstasy. There is little else for him.
This small child he could teach. Would strive to teach. Because that is what he does. That is what he has labeled himself, has styled himself. A teacher in the art of pain. And she would learn, because nothing else would be acceptable.
So when the child asks him if he is her father, a faint rumble echoes forth from his chest. It is laughter, he realizes. He has so rarely laughed, that he has nearly forgotten how. ”Yes,” he finally says in a raspy whisper, once the laughter has subsided.
Raelynx
khaos x eyrie
OOC: Ugh, I'm sorry, I just realized I completely misread your first post. The powerplaying in my last post was entirely unintentional :/