jamie
from the destruction, out of the flame
She is sorry. He hears her say it. But he does not know how to acknowledge it. And he feels no remorse in the absence of his response. He feels no guilt in letting her apology disintegrate in the space between them.
It is unclear if he has deduced exactly what the hungry thing had taken from him. Perhaps he would get his answer were he to contemplate what she had offered him once. Relief. He had thought it was fear that stopped him from letting her take away the pain that hindered him. Were he to contemplate it now, he would surely come to a different conclusion. He would think himself foolish for not accepting her offer to help. If the pain still plagued him, perhaps he might have even asked her now to absolve him of it.
But there is no pain and it was not fear that had prevented him from letting her heal him. It had been the conscience. The understanding that he would be dangerous to others. It had been the thought of what the consequences might be for the innocent.
He cares naught for such trivial things anymore.
He knows that she is lying. He knows that it would take a magician to kill him, that she is perfectly capable, but he does not challenge her. He listens to her offer instead, blinks his own freakish yellow eyes and tilts his own peculiar head. Mirroring her without meaning to. The shark-tooth smile fades as he considers it.
“How?”
you need a villain, give me a name
