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██ It was pure rotten luck, that anyone who tried to impart knowledge on Enma was met with a road block as wide as the oceans were deep: He had been taught so much by something so foul, that to learn anything else felt like folly. Every piece of him was touched by rot, every move he made felt rooted in some part of Daemon, anything he hated or liked about himself was somehow his, his, [ his ].
The foul language, though. That was all Enma.
You’re still scared. But right now, right now, he wasn’t. He was just fucking furious. He knew that no matter how pure that anger felt, it wasn’t– for every burst of anger for Daemon, there was an equal match for himself, for falling for it again, for letting himself be controlled again. But still, he wasn’t scared. Realizing that brought a stillness to his anger, a calm under the raging storm.
“I know you’re real. Chrome saw you, too.” I hurt her because of you. I hurt her because of me. “I let myself starve for you. I slept on the street for weeks for you. I denied every helping hand because I thought it had to be you.” But that was nothing. That wasn’t what Enma was mad about, what the roiling in his gut found purchase in. “You can’t isolate me anymore,” ah, but Enma’s voice wavered, the still strength rocked.
He had. He had isolated Enma terribly, over a month spent speaking only to himself and a few cats and the occasional person he held at arm’s length, if that arm ended in a double-edged sword. Enma had pushed so many people away for him, hurt people for him. He had proven himself every bit Daemon Spade’s puppet still.
He wavered. “I’m useless. Right now, I’m just a boy with some rocks. The only thing that ever made me worth your time is gone.”
“Are you happy?”
His breath was starting to quicken, no, no, stay calm, stay furious, don’t get swallowed up by the misery in the futility.
“Is this what makes you happy? Torturing me and getting nothing out of it? Did you fucking die just to keep doing this forever? Am I all you have?”
The inner struggles and turmoils Enma faced now, for falling for his tricks and words once again meant little. They’re fine, but nothing out of the ordinary. Every empty space of thought, every chance Enma was not pre-occupying himself with something ‘more’ significant, was filled in the same energy. It wasn’t anything that he had to try for or mold inside. The anger, the regret, the self depreciation, it’s something that he’d well welded into place years ago. It required no further work.
Unfortunately, Enma had come into contact with the precious Decimo mist. She’s too strong, and anything he could try to spin around her would only be undone. It’s nothing he could play off for long, and it causes him to click his tongue in irritation. There’s still the solid reality that is Enma’s poor, pathetic, life. But Spade finds himself getting angrier with every fucking question Enma spouts.
He’s almost uncertain where to even begin now that the all mirrors have been broken and curtains torn down,”Listen to yourself, Enma,” he scoffs, eyes narrowing in heavy anger,”Is this what makes you feel better? To question me about my happiness? To blame your foolishness on me?” the wavering hadn’t gone unnoticed, but his own blood is only boiling more,”If you want to know so---badly,” he has to bite back swearing,”While you were busy isolating yourself, damming yourself to a miserable first month; I’d been making acquaintances. Others that share my fashion tastes and a tea time. I’ve even had a wonderful date,” Spade’s demeanor has shifted, wrath burns in his eyes while all his other features remain soft,”I’ve made a life outside of your misery,” barely, he still suffers his own, but it’s not something Enma needs to be privy too. Even if Enma would surely have his doubts to the truth of the Primo’s words.
“Is that what you wanted to hear? Or did you expect to hear that this is all I do? Sit around and think solely about you? That’s quite some flattery, for yourself, but I promise, Enma--”
“You are not all I have, but you will certainly always have me in the back of your head. You will always have to carry the thought that I raised you. That a monster, raised you, and that you are none too far off,”
“What’s your next move? You, monster,”
