11-02-2007, 08:46 PM
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'Twas a rough night,he replied half-heartedly, closing his book. And the king is dead, he thought, he had been dead a long time and the murder had not stopped there. But who among them had not been born by their mothers? They were too primitive, still, and so the monster remained, never to be overthrown, never to be vanquished. It was just how things were, hm? He could have smiled though; it was almost like old times, so much that it was like a dagger between his scarred ribs. But he could not admit to his murder.
But to be or not to be,the hybrid sighed, opening the pages again, unable to let his fingers lay still. It was agitating. Laruku was an absurdist. And in true absurdist fashion, he didn't know or wonder or care why. He just was. And he should die.