[/html]Rachias had always been the one to want, to hope, to wonder, and to wander. He, on the other hand, had been too reserved, too complacent, and too still. He had adored those aspects of her that he had not had and had not understood. It was a difference separate from the stark relationship of good and evil he had had with Andrezej -- it was a difference he had not scorned or feared. But perhaps it was more accurate they were had been party of a trinity. The dead was black. The missing was white. And he was caught in the middle, chasing them both. It was probably why he was there by the sea. He did not miss his brother the way he missed his sister, but the emptiness left behind was not dissimilar.
"This isn't home," Kharma said quietly. Part of him felt that Rachias knew that as well as he did. She had rejected Inferni too, but their father was buried not so far away. Though there was likely nothing left of that cabin but dirt and dust, he did not know that she was not still looking for something there. He did not know that she did not consider their father's ghost more of a home than the one they had made for themselves. He could not compete with a dead man. "She might already be dead." That was true too. Two years was a long time. He couldn't know anything.
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