What the #?*!

The way that she looked up at him… That raw vulnerability he hadn’t seen in years… Kalt felt a blade pierce him more times than he could count. He struggled to draw a full breath without it feeling like he was inhaling shards of glass. But she promised in a voice that he didn’t quite understand. Regardless, she promised, and that was enough for him.       He wasn’t sure if her question was rhetorical or not, but he remained quiet. It was very possible that he willed his mind to interpret it in a way that came across as not actually wanting an answer. The man wasn’t sure he had an answer to give. What were they supposed to do? Was it back to looking over their shoulders everywhere they went, waiting for the mask to appear out of nowhere? Was it back to a life of hell, tortured by the ghost of a demon that they had already been haunted by for so long? The only other thing to do would be to rid themselves of the mask, of the man wearing the mask. Unfortunately for him, Ashetta was clear in her point of not harming Alistair, as much as he would have loved to do it at that moment.       Her voice was quiet, far away when she mentioned stitching his hand. Kalt shook his head, his lips tight and heart continuing to race. He looked at his bloody hand and took a step back from her, attempting to breathe through the lump in his throat. ”It isn’t that deep,” he said in a hushed voice.       A part of him was actually disappointed that the statement wasn’t a lie. His knives were his pride and joy, and she knew that he took incredible care of each and every blade. Since coming here, he hadn’t had the time to really set aside time every day to care for the knives, so several of them – such as the one he had just used on himself – weren’t in their best condition. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t sharp, just not as sharp as they should be…       Kalt took the liquor bottle and drew a slow breath, then tipped it to his lips. ”Just needs to be cleaned. It’ll heal on its own.” He opened his hand and poured some of the liquor over it, wincing sharply at the sudden pain of the alcohol. ”Fucking hells,” he breathed in a chuckle through clenched teeth. ”Made that stronger than I thought.” He forced a breathy chuckle, taking another drink as he shook the alcohol and blood from his hand lightly. It was a deeper cut than he thought, but it didn’t need to be stitched. The chances of him tearing the stitches with his inability to just let them be were pretty high anyway. Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul