06-19-2017, 10:00 PM
Ophelia means nothing to him, a name in a list of ancestors. His mother and father were far more amusing stories however. He knows nothing of this beast’s run ins with his family over the test of time, the way they were woven and tied together regardless if they like it or not. Apparently the story wasn’t over, perhaps it had truly just begun. Ophelia was nothing but a prelude, setting up for a far more vivid and brighter ending. He can see the stallion unravel before him and he says nothing, does not react. Waits with bated breath, excitement in his eyes. Oh the pain is excruciating but he is laughing, laughing as Deimos squeezes his heart and kills him. Blood bubbles at the corner of his lips, the contrast grotesquely beautiful as it drips down his white chest. Wings flare but he stands and takes it, his gaze cold even as his strength slowly seeps from his body. Pain is nothing. Fear is overrated. ”I…” He laughs, crimson foam on pale lips. ”Am nothing like my father.” And he knows that this… This is what it comes down to. Cross was weak but he is not. His own madness he wears like a badge of honor. Surely that too is enticing. Ophelia it whispers. ”Such a waste of power…. But I can help you with that.” He gasps as his gaze never wavers. Deimos has magic and infamy so what could Gryffen possibly give him? An outlet of course. Purpose. That which he is lacking and won’t admit he wants… or needs. - - - - - |