— I'm not here looking for absolution —
His heart, sick and twisted as it is, thus painfully when she animates the shadows. When they twist and turn and then lunge toward his animated creature. His black eyes widen just a little, the endless depths of them craving what she offers—this dark magic that she twists around her fingers and works so easily.
He glances down as the creature lands at his feet and he feels nothing but curiosity.
He does not feel shame that she was able to overpower his simple creation. He does not feel fear at what else she may be able to do. He feels curiosity and that growing, gnawing sense of want beneath the surface of his star-studded coat. It is an endless hunger that he is unable to quell. It is something that he has only just begun to understand, something that writhes to life and he has no desire to stop.
So he remains still, watching as she moves closer, as her shadows reach out and heal the damned thing.
His lips spread into a wide, empty smile—as cold as a crocodile—and he tilts a face that would one day be described as handsome were it not so carved from stone. So devoid of any real life beneath it.
Without thought, he reaches his gift toward the ground below him, pouring more of himself into the work until the arch of his boyish neck is damp. The bird begins to flutter in response, its wings giving a sickening thump as it beats against the soil, but before it can full launch into the air, the earth around it begins to tremble. Without any further warning, several birds fly upward, dirt flying as the first joins.
His face, splattered with the evidence, lifts to watch the flock of them fly together. They are in various degrees of death. Some are just bones, creaking as they defy gravity. Others are freshly dead and would look almost natural were something not distinctly off about the strange, disjointed way that they move.
Regardless, to him, they are a thing of beauty.
Smiling still, he finally looks back down, meeting her gaze without hesitation.
“My name is Stave.”
