A soft sigh rolls past his lips and seeps into his mask as that beautiful voice of a siren greets his ears. If he had been a mortal man he very well knew Margarethe would be the only woman who would be able to control him and have him wrapped around her finger. But…he was not mortal. He was a God. {What a lie; he was buying his own con and he was past the point of no return. His mind was completely consumed by the poison–the radiation– the i n s a n i t y.} It was easier to believe himself free of human follies than to realize he was simply sociopathic in behaviors and tendencies and he was rather incapable of love. Perhaps in another lifetime, another world that was not so completely destroyed by greed, wrath, and gluttony, perhaps then he could have been a normal man.
But that could only be a theory.
The Warlord offers no words as he takes heavy steps to close the distance between them; his hulking form looming over her as his neck bends for their eyes to lock. He lifts those massive hands to cup her beautiful face as arctic hues drag her under the riptide of anticipation. Joe knows his beloved wife needs constant affirmation and continuous praise; whether it come from him or the War Boys. They’re not too different.
When he speaks his words are heavy with iron and rust as they spill from his tainted mouth. They hold a false sense of truth but he subconsciously knows his dear Margarethe is as delusional as he and will believe anything he utters, whether it be true or not.
— “My sweet, sweet P o i s o n,” he nearly coos as calloused pads of his thumbs run along her lips. “What kind of Husband would I be if I did not love my wife?” The word ‘love’ was almost difficult for him to utter and it was evident with the weight it held when spoke.
