09-16-2009, 07:02 PM
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Twice she had battled since he had seen her last, and once she had lost. It seemed that such a thing was destined, given that the demon she had battled with was more than a mortal. Even though the truth of this thing was unknown to the boy, he understood very clearly that what he had fought—what had nearly killed him—was something more. Still, the news of the beast’s death made a wicked smile grace his face, turning it wicked. It was the smile of his grandfather, whom he had never known. Like his eyes, which had come from a woman who by all rights should have been dead, Ezekiel was made up of ghosts.
“I do not fear death,” he reassured her, knowing that such a thing was true. He had seen it once. What he had feared was abandonment, as his mother had done to him twice over. That perhaps she had left him behind and forgotten the promise they had made to one another. The promise, he reminded himself, he would need to cast aside. Even though his sister was gone, he knew she still lived. He intended to find her.
That was why he had come, truly. And here he sat, listening to her speak of the children he would not see for a long time. Despite the shadow of wickedness in his eyes, they were soft. “I hope to meet them someday,” he began, then hesitated. [/html]