[SE] cut from marble

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

It sounded like a simple life, the kind that Astaroth had never known. It’s with a semblance of an attempt to understand the allure and her nostalgia and sorrow over it that he nods his understanding — because those he knew were dead too. Except for Danta, who had already gone over the same semblances since finding him, of all of those other Ancients they knew that were likely dead or were stone gargoyles, lying in wait for someone to notice.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He apologizes, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’d never been a family oriented person, having never had the opportunity or desire to. Such was the life of cannibals, he supposes.

As for himself? He shakes his head and snags another piece of fruit from the plate, tail still flicking idly behind him like the question doesn’t bother him at all. “I do not.” He answers honestly, tilting his gaze back toward her. “I can recall memories of my mother, but they are fleeting. Never knew my father. I left as soon as I had a chance to.” But they had been over that, his tribe of cannibals turning on one another when the prey became nonexistent. Astaroth had branched out and left any thought of a family long behind.

Not that there was ever much of one to begin with.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //