[A part of Asch just wants to collapse himself, to curl up in a corner and scream out his grief for a while. That part of him still remembers so much more clearly than before the child he used to be, just was, only moments before.
There's no time for grieving, though; the Shifter is still alive, staggering and disoriented from being "killed" within their own manifested dream. Anger flares in him - that it's her fault, that all of this is her doing, and she's the one who caused these horrible memories, as if he didn't have enough of those already - and he marches after her as she tries to flee. She doesn't get far, only a few stumbling steps and one more scream (one that haunts, one that hurts, because his mother had screamed like that before she died- not died not died she's alive it wasn't her) as his sword slashes across her back, tearing off both wings and killing her instantly. This time the body doesn't fade, but he has no reason to give it so much as a second glance. It's a stranger, an enemy. Someone that means nothing to him, nothing at all.
But when he tries to turn away he stumbles, his knees buckling, and he drops to the ground, hunched over and shaking, eyes wide, staring blindly at the stone beneath tightly-clenched hands.
Ten years old. He'd been ten years old and he'd murdered his own mother without a second thought, because someone with his face told him it had to be done. And it was true, all of it was true, and it hadn't been her at all. It was fine.
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There's no time for grieving, though; the Shifter is still alive, staggering and disoriented from being "killed" within their own manifested dream. Anger flares in him - that it's her fault, that all of this is her doing, and she's the one who caused these horrible memories, as if he didn't have enough of those already - and he marches after her as she tries to flee. She doesn't get far, only a few stumbling steps and one more scream (one that haunts, one that hurts, because his mother had screamed like that before she died- not died not died she's alive it wasn't her) as his sword slashes across her back, tearing off both wings and killing her instantly. This time the body doesn't fade, but he has no reason to give it so much as a second glance. It's a stranger, an enemy. Someone that means nothing to him, nothing at all.
But when he tries to turn away he stumbles, his knees buckling, and he drops to the ground, hunched over and shaking, eyes wide, staring blindly at the stone beneath tightly-clenched hands.
Ten years old. He'd been ten years old and he'd murdered his own mother without a second thought, because someone with his face told him it had to be done. And it was true, all of it was true, and it hadn't been her at all. It was fine.
But.
What kind of monster does that?]