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*cough cough* Uh…what happens to them if like this character’s *cough* entire character arc revolves around him NOT being willing to accept his greed and selfish characteristics…??

And.

How am I gonna do this without major insta-spoilers and a huuuuuuuuuuuuge mega backstory infodump? *cracks knuckles dramatically*

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!

…I think…

 

 

Accept your greed and selfishness.

Well. The blind guy sure knew how to pick them. Nathair was mildly impressed with the man’s sheer force of audacity. And then the other one followed – Nithel, wasn’t it? Nithel nodded slightly to Nathair and he hadn’t expected that. The moment was gone before he recovered from it. Then the obnoxious one went in too.

And Nathair – he stood outside the mirror after everyone had gone in for a good couple seconds.

“I’m sure this is an…excellent idea.” He said, almost sounding as if it were a sincere compliment. Then he followed in.

He didn’t even make it to the hall before it all dissolved into smoke.

‘Confess your guilt.’

“Guilt is an emotion, and I don’t have those.” He lied.

It was all smoke. Thick, black lumps of smoke, the kind that drowns you like a thousand seeping hands smeared from your face to your entire body. That morphs and wipes every identifiable feature. Paints you black.

Before they judge, if they would listen to my story first

But you’ve already decided, haven’t you?

Predestined to ever be a snake.

There weren’t many things that gave Nathair emotions again, but there was nothing like the past to awaken terror.

 

*CONTENT WARNING* This character is especially prone to being…um, detailed when referring to past violence, abuse etc. I mean Alessio barely talks about his trauma but Nathair will go into excruciating detail. Idk how far he’ll get into this…

 

It was…cold, through his entire bones like metallic wires. Needles. Literal needles through his skin. In the bone, fastened between ribs. He could see the needles puncture through muscle but every nerve was paralyzed, and he barely even felt pain.

He didn’t. feel. pain.

Technically, he was dead.

Oh cruel fate.

 

…

We were all scared of the fever.

…

He could only hear garbled voices, they were of course, physicians and magicians some…combination of the two maybe that he’s “father” picked up. All he could see were fractured silhouettes, powdery black splotches moving above him. Probably poking and prodding but he couldn’t feel a single thing.

…

Right and wrong, aren’t they beautiful ideals for the people who’ve never had to truly apply them?

I suppose, applying morality to others is so much more convenient, so much easier, so much more…controlling.

…

It was cold but he didn’t feel any pain, just numbness.

But then it was suddenly all back again.

…

You wouldn’t know, you really wouldn’t know what I’ve been through, and no one would want to know. No one wants to look at it up close.

Wouldn’t you rather a villain you can hate?

Rather than a simple, broken person. Just like you.

…

Maddening panic surged through him. Lies it was all lies! He’d always told everyone they were lying, saying his father didn’t care about him. But they were right, weren’t they? His father hated him, or didn’t care any more about him than he did anyone else.

His father would save him his father would save him – of course he knew he was lying to himself.

It wasn’t a trick, it wasn’t a nightmare but it had to be. It truly had to be! He’d gotten sick after wandering into his father’s study, his father asked him to be a part of his experiment, his father didn’t like it when he said no, his father –

…

You want a story, don’t you?

You want to be horrified but not at your own risk?

I mean, you wouldn’t want to catch feelings for the people you condemn now, would you?

…

It was gone again.

Any feeling a normal eight-year-old boy would have.

All he felt was the dizzying cold.

Mechanically, the realization snapped one fact after the other like needles.

His father was experimenting with ghouls – windigo especially.

His father wanted a test subject to infect with the windigo fever to see if there was cure.

But really, his father didn’t want a cure; he wanted a “tame” ghoul. A weapon.

…

Pain didn’t exist, emotions didn’t exist, they were all dead. The only thing driving him to stay alive was the hate in his head. All the ways to make them pay, to make them feel helpless, poisoned like this. It froze his blood and churned in his stomach, that sick, fear-twisted hate.

But something snapped, and that kind of hate wasn’t human.

 

Then he was in the room with all the others, inside the mirror. And they’d all seen it. What that mean to him was that they were all judging, shocked out of any narrative you can design to sound innocent and amicable…that game was over. He was sure that would make him snap.

Nathair was dangerous without emotions, but with pain and fear and every fractured memory worming through his mind. Hate kept him alive, nothing else, after all he wasn’t human anymore, was he…? He laughed huskily.

Its voice snaked through the room, whatever it was that was playing this game with them.

“And what do you do?”

“What I had to to survive.” Nathair hissed.

 

@kimlikesart @hannahrenner @ragnarok

 

So…that wasn’t so bad…😁✌️😬