THE YOUNG WOLF PACES WITH RIGHTEOUS RAGE. / BUT RAGE IS ALL HE’S EVER KNOWN, EVER BEEN. the sight of it, the display of it upon scowled youthful features is nothing new. there is, however, a foreign display of fear -- one which few have ever seen upon the composed high commander’s otherwise icy demeanor. the hands of flesh and metal are clenched tightly, as though with the intent to take his rage out upon something. last time the unfortunate victim had been a wall -- it had been with his prosthetic, no less, unaware of his brute strength. and with it, the ability to nearly destroy an entire structure.
he whips around suddenly, eyes feverish and bleary. but he does not / will not weep, has not done so in years. this vulnerability is as close of an attempt there will be. all evidence of his desperation, his helplessness that has not been present since he was a boy. ( since he had a mother to lose. / now, the vicious cycle looks to his sister. )
❝ she’s blatantly throwing her life away, as though it is her only choice! to hell with the proclamations! fate be damned! ❞ the ranting tirade of a naïve child, paired with the pain of a man’s experience. funny, for him of all people to condemn fate. ❝ how can you stand by idly and allow this? you are a mother to us as we your children -- and do not deny this; but what mother collaborates with the gods to offer her child a lamb to the slaughter? ❞
┊ ˚˖↷ @shivaer