It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
A nod for her approval, and he went back to work, carving along the winter expanse, compelling the incantations to come to fruition. They chiseled and sculpted in their gilded fathoms, implored and contorted, controlled and maintained, shaping identical pieces of armaments and machinery from the previous equipment. While he maintained concentration, he could still contemplate, think over the inquiries layered within, brows only slightly furrowed as he crouched and bent, following wooden pieces and contraptions. “Yes. I was born with magic.” Bloodlines, ancestry, descendants passing on potency, potential; he could presume the embers and water coiled within his soul were from his parents, but otherwise he’d never known where the other detrimental courses had seethed. Life drain had been the first devastating thing stored within him.
He maneuvered along, inspecting the second weapon, before beginning the third. “Most of us were. It was more surprising to find someone without.” Something accepted, rather than shamed, like here in Caido, where it held to stories of the Voice like knives, like nettles, like thorns, incapable of being erased. “Does Halo hold a stigma towards the Abandoned?” An arched brow in her direction, then naught more, half-curious, half bemused, while the tertiary machine formed beneath his hands.
He maneuvered along, inspecting the second weapon, before beginning the third. “Most of us were. It was more surprising to find someone without.” Something accepted, rather than shamed, like here in Caido, where it held to stories of the Voice like knives, like nettles, like thorns, incapable of being erased. “Does Halo hold a stigma towards the Abandoned?” An arched brow in her direction, then naught more, half-curious, half bemused, while the tertiary machine formed beneath his hands.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
