[he snarls, his placid affect dissolving for the truth: hatefulness]
Ugh. The more you talk the more I DO want to be alone for eternity.
[Is she wrong though? He hates people. Despises looking at them almost as much as he is revolted by eating. Yet still he yearns. Covets.
At least that hate is something. If it was just him, what would he have left to want? What would make his throat sizzle and let him pretend he feels something other than pain?
He should stop drinking. He knows that. He already feels nauseous and fuck does he hate the sensation of throwing up. But he takes the drink anyway, tosses it back to feel the burn. His impulse control is in shatters. Has been since he lost what made him human. Some delicate part of him- his brain, his soul, his mind- destroyed along with his sense of taste.
Vincent, very suddenly but with an extreme assuredness, want to wrap his hands around it's throat]
And what the fuck about you then? If you love your Death so much why don't you hurry up and meet her?
no subject
Ugh. The more you talk the more I DO want to be alone for eternity.
[Is she wrong though? He hates people. Despises looking at them almost as much as he is revolted by eating. Yet still he yearns. Covets.
At least that hate is something. If it was just him, what would he have left to want? What would make his throat sizzle and let him pretend he feels something other than pain?
He should stop drinking. He knows that. He already feels nauseous and fuck does he hate the sensation of throwing up. But he takes the drink anyway, tosses it back to feel the burn. His impulse control is in shatters. Has been since he lost what made him human. Some delicate part of him- his brain, his soul, his mind- destroyed along with his sense of taste.
Vincent, very suddenly but with an extreme assuredness, want to wrap his hands around it's throat]
And what the fuck about you then? If you love your Death so much why don't you hurry up and meet her?