There has always been a soft spot in Draco’s heart for his sister. Though he thinks her smaller and much weaker than he, he knows that he loves her, even if that love comes out ugly and twisted.
Unfortunately for Dove, Draco inherited all of the bad qualities of his mother and father. Being a literal demon, he has always found it difficult to resist the metaphorical devil on his shoulder, though such an example seems to minimize the seriously cruel pieces of his personality. He is a quietly proud creature, one defined by the steely gleam of a sword and vicious taste of spilled blood.
He is a prince, one the princess spends her life trying to escape.
Draco, murmurs the sweet voice of his sibling, interrupting the multitudes of useless thoughts racing through his head. He swings around, crimson glimmering with the same mellow intensity as the stars that dot his face. The smile that raises his lips is languid and welcoming, though not without a certain vicious bite.
What are you doing?
The demon boy can sense his sister’s hesitation as she regards him. A tight, miniscule regret vibrates in his throat but he swallows it without a tell that he feels anything at all. The smile remains, though it warms as the glow of his eyes dims.
“What do you think I’m doing, idiot?” he snaps out, then shoves her shoulder with his forehead and beckons her further into Pangea. The touch somehow is just a rude as his response, and the way he expects her to follow is coldly arrogant.
“I’m just trying to figure out why dad loves this almost useless dust bowl so much. What are you doing?”
@[Dove]
