@psychcdelica asked: you don’t have to go through this by yourself. // to a son from a dadther
To another such words might have been soft comfort from one so close to a father as Wrathion might ever truly have, even to he sentiment rings a gentle chime, a quiet sort of thing which might curl within his breast against aching heart. Old red was insufferably kind, kind to a fault, the sort who would hang himself on his own morals before he saw harm come to another.
And that was precisely the problem.
“I do,” he begins, so very, very matter of fact. And yet not unkindly, not without sharp curl to words he had worn so viciously in younger days, was still prone to wearing even yet when his hackles were raised just so. “People like you are ill suited to walking the path I am on. We all have our duties in this world, do we not? This is mine, as you have yours.” For Kori may have thought himself long tainted by atrocities of his past, of what he had done, but it was that guilt which was precisely why.
What would elder be like were it that he was forced to wade through the same darkness, the same madness Wrathion did? How quickly would he be consumed with it, by it?