The alcohol is starting to burn in his veins, twisting and turning with every beat of his heart and chasing away the voices that lingered in the back of his mind. He regards her with shadowed eyes, and when he breathes out he almost imagines that there is smoke curling from his nostrils, an old ache for the magic he had once possessed and that had been ripped away from him. All at once, he feels so very tired and so very old, and he wonders if he ever truthfully had a rightful place in this world at all -- the bastard prince, the godslayer, reduced down to a drunkard and a fool. “Not everything is about duty,” He answers with a shake of his head, tangled hair falling over the missing eye, the empty socket turned towards the wall as though to hide the weakness there. “Trust me. Solterra will be standing long after you or I have been picked clean by the vultures. Don’t waste your life chasing after something that doesn’t exist.” The words are bitter on his tongue, and he gestures for the bartender to hand him another bottle to wash them away. |
@teiran
