You must truly be on death’s door if you're asking for help rather than spitting in my face.
The words were dry, almost sardonic, but there was no heat behind them—only the faintest waver of something uncertain. Kellam's gaze flicked toward the cigarette smoldering between Ruth’s fingers, nostrils flaring as if the smoke itself offended him. His lips pressed into a hard line before he exhaled slowly, letting the judgment pass without giving it voice.
One battle at a time.
He shifted against the tree, the bark scraping against his shoulders—something solid, something grounding. His whole life had been built on standing firm, on meeting every storm head-on. But this? This was... different. It wasn’t a fight he could win with steel or sharp words. And Maker's breath, he was fucking terrible at it.
You think I don’t see what you’ve become?The question was low, half-muttered, as if the admission cost him something to say out loud. His knuckles flexed against the branch.
I see it. You’ve got my temper. My stubbornness. My self-loathing. The difference is—well the difference isn't important.He hesitated, the words catching in his throat before they could turn sharp.
A bitter chuckle slipped out of him, barely more than breath. He glanced up at the canopy, as if searching for some unseen answer among the branches. He didn't like admitting shortcomings, but somehow it was spilling out of him despite his demon's protests.
@Kellam Yoesif
03-02-2025, 08:08 AM
