— I'm not here looking for absolution —
Stave was not brought by love into this world.
And thus, he does not truly feel it.
Possession, perhaps. This he feels acutely when he looks at his sister and the things that he deems his own. He knows the keen edge of want, even from a young age. It settles in between his bones and drives him, makes him nearly furious with it when he feels that something grows beyond his young reach.
These are the things that become like weeds in his thin chest. These are the things that have him staring for too long at the earth, concentrating until a headache begins to form behind his eyes. But these are also the things that allow him to finally feel that rush of success when the dirt begins to move—when the soil shifts and the bones crawl out. Nothing large, for now. Just the corpses of small animals. Squirrels. Rodents. The occasional raccoon or something similar, although they are more tiring to control.
He finds pleasure in the way that he can manipulate them.
Control them.
Give them something like freedom before he wrenches it from them.
It is cruel, he knows in some distant part of his brain, but it does not affect him as it should. It does not cause him to feel regret or guilt. These things just roll off him, leaving him empty and cold and hungry.
He feels it today as he walks through the meadow, lip curling as he regards those around him.
Frustrated, he pauses, angling his fine head backward to the shadows that chase him.
“Desire,” his boyish voice is deep for his age and sharp. “Hurry up. We’re nearly there.”
