mall-caps;">IT'S ONLY cript;">FOREVER, NOT LONG AT ALLFor Angel, near D'Neville. He's looking at a relic from when Talitha was still around, which would be severely faded by now.
He remembered the cave. As he lingered on the entrance to where he was raised, his eyes fluttered over what remained of his mother's possessions. There was so little, but she had taken nothing but her children when she disappeared. Still, it wasn't his mother's belongings that he cared about, no; after taking note of what was left, his red eyes focused on her final painting, the large image of someone now dead, someone he had never known, except for in the fur of a creature he could barely remember. A brother lamented over. One taken away. He had heard Talitha cry over the bastard Winters child, but he hadn't understood in the past. The face of his father, that was what sat on the far wall. The face of his father, but not of Priest's. No, Priest was the child of something all-together filthy, something Talitha had admitted to during a night of alcohol and misery. Something filthy...but the son of someone equally dead. No, he didn't have to admit his parentage -- he could fall back in the lie that Talitha tried to instill in he and his sister. They were Ulrichs, son and daughter of a German she had bound herself to. Son and daughter of a German who had loved the de le Poer creature when so few others did.
A grunt escaped him, his small body jerking out of the entrance and padding away in disgust. The bitch had left him behind to go find his grandfather, the man who had favored the unknown son, the prodigal child. Priest wasn't jealous, he was glad to have return to Inferni, he was glad to be away from her.
His eyes explored the landscape, and he grinned before breaking out into a run across the earth. This was his home. This was his family. This was where he belonged. When he finally halted, he was in the yard of the manor, staring up at the faded mural that Talitha had plastered against the side -- it depicted the life he had been told of, one of genocide of their cousin species, one of strength of Inferni. It was lovely. Priest, holding no artistic abilities himself, sat before it and simply gazed. "Oh, mother. You were always such a dreamer."
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