flammesnoir:
Despite being born from love, for him, the topic was a tedious one that rarely lasted, and a part of him had resented it in a way. Thus for a moment, a look of irritation paints his features, though it soon softens, and instead his expression is vacant. “Hoh…? What’s this? You still look to a creature who thrives off of hate above all else for answers concerning matters of the heart…? To know if you’re wrong for desiring love and to be loved?” Had this been any other situation, he would no doubt laugh and exit the area without delay, yet because of what—who she was, his facial expression remains cold and blank.
“… But then, this an action you do quite often, isn’t it? You seek the affection and approval of others… for someone to accept you and yet you don’t accept yourself.”
Distant as Avenger may be, he seems to have some of the answers she seeks. She matches his blank stare with one of her own, the glassy surface of her eyes reflecting his visage through the curtain of her tousled hair. Is it truly impossible to love without loving oneself? She has loved before, and doubtlessly she will love again -- but she’s doubtful that any of her affections will be returned. Perhaps that is the missing piece.
“... How... then?” Her brows pinch together, gathering beneath the golden jut of her horn. “How... can, I... love-- me?” The berserker lifts her hand, eyeing one of the many scars that mar her borrowed flesh, and frowns. To the untrained eye, she might appear unblemished -- the perfect picture of a youthful girl, if not for those metallic augmentations -- but she knows all of her body’s secrets. Patches of flesh sewn together from corpses, machinery and wires affixed to tendon in place of bone... How could she learn to love something so disgusting?