@alwaysthesitter : cont from here.
It's a question that stops him. He doesn't know why. Perhaps the absurdity of it. Did he really think this .... This that he had become ... Was hindered by mortality ? The hissing tendrils that crawled throughout his skin like maggots writhing amongst the decay of a corpse protest once more, as if urging him to ignore. But he doesn't. His line of thought persists even through the clouded whispering, buzzing in the back of his mind like flies.
He must have thought him human. It was a strange thing to ponder. The idea that anyone could look upon him now and think of a human being with human fears and limitations. It sits in his stomach, black and writhing like the rot that had taken him years ago. When he was a man ━ when he was a boy, even ━ a scared little boy, few seemed to think of him that way.
But he remembered one. She was kind. Not like the others. She knew what it was like to be different in her own way. To be outside of societies false sense of normalcy... And that was why... It seems whatever he was thinking was interrupted by another thought, colliding with the first one and ripping it to pieces like wolves set upon a grazing deer. His withered lips pulled into a smile with this, turning back to face the young man as he answered.
❝ I am 'dead.' You can thank Eleven for that. You can thank her ... For everything. ❞ No one could offer him humanity then, so why now ? Why now when he had no need of it
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