📺 your full honest opinion on Wolf.
Ask Shen’s Shadow | Accepting
“I’m not quite renowned for my honesty.” In the beginning, he sounds normal, haughty and irritable and wholly like himself. But it doesn’t last long. There’s something peculiar in his face, and his next words are inherently off.
“Am I?” A rippling tremor goes through Shen’s smile, like a muscle twitch under the skin, and he’s forced to lower his head, fixing his wide-eyed gaze on the sharp metal encasing his scarred feet. “Oh, but you know otherwise. I’ve never tempered my words with you, have I? You’ve been privy to every passing, trivial criticism I’ve ever had of you, right from the beginning, and I’ll not start holding back now. Are you a masochist, by chance? To keep coming back like this for a tongue lashing, well. One can’t be faulted for wondering... Or do you perhaps fancy yourself a martyr for staying by my side, enduring my abuse and cruelty? Well, let us stamp out that comforting notion right now.”
“You’re a wretch, Zang. A murderer. Your hands are drenched in blood, innocent blood, and it’ll never rinse out, no matter how long you wear the skin of the philanthropist and play the part.”
Shen laughs then, pealing, unrestrained, even going so far as to toss his head back as he does in a rather familiar fashion. But a loud sob cracks unexpectedly into the middle of that laughter, and he appears to freeze, staring up at the ceiling with what amounts to a blank smile.
“And I killed you,” he eventually continues in an almost helpless, broken tone of voice. “Were I anyone else, anything but a murderer and a usurper myself, I’d be hailed as a great protector, a hero with only the most noble of intentions. And they’d all be wrong even then because to kill you, I first had to betray you.”
Another rapid mood shift occurs when Shen’s gaze travels unsteadily from the ceiling to the one who’d asked his opinion on this particularly unpleasant topic in the first place— brows lowering dangerously, an accusatory glint in his narrowed eyes. When he speaks, it’s with a near snarl.
“Why couldn’t you have just done what I told you to..?! Why did you have to say no?! Wh-Why did you have to make me ruin it..? I-I... I ruined it. I ruined everything, but you made me ruin it.” Hissed venomously through his barely open beak, like every word is somehow both invigorating and a chore.
There’s a long moment then, a silence broken only by his staggered breaths, each one laced with his ever-present, worsening wheeze. Gradually, though, the anger in his stance dissipates, leaving him in trickling amounts like a poorly-maintained faucet, so that in the end he resembles something of a forlorn puppet that’s been abandoned on a shelf.
“I-I don’t want to apologize yet.” A familiar plea, word for word, and just as soft and resentful as the first time he’d spoken it aloud.
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