[/html]There's madness in the blood, was he had always said, and it was a madness that would have them cannibalize one another. Distance and the wall would keep them safe, keep them happy, and it had been so. They had been safe and happy together, with an absentee mother and two halves madness between the three of them. Perhaps her father had been right, there. In her time alone, with hundreds of nights to think about her family and her life and everything she had ever been told and had ever discovered on her own, Cassandra had considered the way Kharma had spoken of madness and the name 'Lykoi.' There was a poetry about it, a man surnamed 'Asylum' keeping his family from the disease, even when it flowed in their blood.
Naturally she wondered if this madness would be as easy to observe as her father had sometimes made it seem. They had been stories, and folded over and retold in her head so many times now, she could not quite remember how they had been told the first time. Ithiel appeared perfectly sane, but she had surely encountered madness in her wandering, and by now she knew that those that were most dangerous were those that did not realize just how mad they were. Ignorant of themselves, they could easily convince others of the same.
"Anyone we spend time with and grow close to becomes family," Cassandra said. "Blood has little to do with it. Unrelated friends become brothers while real brothers, raised apart, are strangers." She tried to place the conversation more distantly in her head, to think of it outside of a personal perspective -- all topics were easier this way -- but it was impossible. The invisible wall was crumbling; she had been pushing against it for weeks now, but now she she walked alongside this horse and this relative towards Inferni, it seemed to come at her all at once. Madness in the blood. Relevance. History. Family.
"I'll see Myrika," the pallid woman said, voice oddly passive. "Everything else can be decided after that."
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