In my dark times, I'll be going back to these streets, promising everything I do not mean. In my dark times, baby, this is all I could be
Every parent only wants to give their child the world. Jenova has tried to do just that, telling her son how perfect he is and showing him that nothing is worthy of his concern in this life. And to her that is the simple truth of the matter, that love and hate and all the other messes of emotions are such a waste of time that he simply shouldn’t bother. It doesn’t mean he should be cruel, obviously, but she’s shaped him into a rather aloof and uninterested boy. Even now in the playground he simply watches the other children with his chin held high.
None of them stand out so much that he feels the desire to approach.
Ophanim flexes his wings and enjoys the way they soak up the warmth of the sun as the hundred golden eyes glimmer in their own glow. Around his neck, the halo tattoo shines as equally as the lines like tears running from his eyes. He’s only just begun to fill out but the curves of muscle beneath his red and white skin look promising. At least he’s already got the handsome angles of his face to match the personality he’s developing.
He steps further into the playground and idly kicks at the larger rocks he spots laying on the ground. Jenova had told him to try and make friends but she never mentioned how, exactly, to do that. When he met his father, she had done all the work for him. All he had to do was stand there and look presentable – shoulders back, head high, and without trembling. He was good at the not trembling bit but to not slouch? Impossible.
He kicks the rock a little further and slowly trails along after it without paying the children around him any mind.
None of them stand out so much that he feels the desire to approach.
Ophanim flexes his wings and enjoys the way they soak up the warmth of the sun as the hundred golden eyes glimmer in their own glow. Around his neck, the halo tattoo shines as equally as the lines like tears running from his eyes. He’s only just begun to fill out but the curves of muscle beneath his red and white skin look promising. At least he’s already got the handsome angles of his face to match the personality he’s developing.
He steps further into the playground and idly kicks at the larger rocks he spots laying on the ground. Jenova had told him to try and make friends but she never mentioned how, exactly, to do that. When he met his father, she had done all the work for him. All he had to do was stand there and look presentable – shoulders back, head high, and without trembling. He was good at the not trembling bit but to not slouch? Impossible.
He kicks the rock a little further and slowly trails along after it without paying the children around him any mind.
ophanim