"He is dead. You murdered him to feed yourself." The hand continues to stroke his hair, the harsh words starkly at odds with the gentle cadence of her voice. Sam will find that even if he wants to leave he won't be able to, too drowsy and soothed beneath the gentle affections.
And then, very suddenly, the hand clenches tight. Gone is the soft caress; the hand that grips Sam's hair has become firm and unyielding, and the voice that comes from its bearer now is still agonizingly familiar, but in a way that will offer no comfort to the Ascended. Sam will be unable to turn his head and look at the figure who holds him, but he won't need to.
"I always knew there was strength in you, Samuel," his father growls. "That you could be something great. Something powerful. You're finally living up to your potential. I'm proud of you, son."
And then, very suddenly, the hand clenches tight. Gone is the soft caress; the hand that grips Sam's hair has become firm and unyielding, and the voice that comes from its bearer now is still agonizingly familiar, but in a way that will offer no comfort to the Ascended. Sam will be unable to turn his head and look at the figure who holds him, but he won't need to.
"I always knew there was strength in you, Samuel," his father growls. "That you could be something great. Something powerful. You're finally living up to your potential. I'm proud of you, son."
