THORVALD
How does he tell her that this temple is desecrated? It's walls are ruined and cracked, chipped and crumbling. The floors are flooded with sea water and it's briny foam has long discolored the pristine tapestries and weathered the faces upon the statues, until they are no more than a ghost of their former majesty. Cold fire burns in place of the warmth braziers used to bring to stave off the northern chill.
Death owns this body, and it cares not for the state of it, as long as it serves it's purpose.
In another life he would of cared, but that is a life where he is still very much alive. Where a lover seeks him for a warm embrace, where friends seek him for laughter and mirth. To tell her would be to open his acursed book and let her gaze upon it's terrors, and for all the parts of him which enjoy suffering, he cannot do that to her. There are some things too monstrous for even monsters to bring to bear.
"How fortunate, for me, that they will see better use." The Warrior muses dryily, nostrils flaring as a fresh wave of crimson dribbled darkly from them. "They are, and they are not." Val answers to her seeking question, a salt and pepper brow raised in her direction. "They come and go as the wind does, sometimes they are a speck, and other times they are like this."
He pauses then, deliberate and thoughtful as he watches this woman of fiery sunsets from the stories of the eastern sea. "Do you always worry over strangers so?"
TAG; @
NOTES;
