It's Cold And It's Broken

Alastor remained where he was, seeming almost frozen in place, until Relm shifted and began to roll over beneath him. His breath caught, throat tightening while he tried not to breathe in through his nose. Relm was still very much in heat, and even though he could be around her without provoking the demons, he didn't want to risk it—not after the progress they'd just made together. While she crawled out from beneath him, Alastor finally began to move, taking a couple steps back to free her from underneath him. Then she spoke, and what she spoke blindsided him. She apologized. She apologized to him. It didn't make sense to the brute. Why was she apologizing to him? For provoking him when he was in a rage state? She had never seen him before like that and didn't know how he'd react. But maybe that was why she was sorry. For putting them both into that position where he had no control and she had buyer's remorse.

Alastor's lips pulled into a slight frown, unseen by Relm's blind eye, and rose to his paws. He trudged up behind the pink fae once more, looking her over with something akin to empathy and affection in his dark abyssal eyes. "I'm sorry too," he replied, the words slow and drawn out as he worked to say the phrase he seldom ever meant. But being sorry wasn't enough. He could see Relm was struggling with this new aspect of her life. The girl was young; only just turned two and in her first heat. Experiencing things she didn't know how to handle. She was pushing herself, and sometimes pushing herself too hard and too far. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. Gods, how was he going to be if Avacyn came to him in her first season looking for help? He'd be totally useless!

Coming to sit down on his haunches directly behind her, Alastor ran his gaze over the scars he'd left behind on her back. They were healed by now, but they would last forever, a permanent etching on her body of how the demon had ravaged her. He raised a large black paw, hovering it between himself and her for a moment while he considered what he was doing. He retracted—then reached forward—then retracted again. Hesitating. Deliberating. "Don't move... please..." he spoke with a low rumbling in his voice. Then he reached his massive paw forward, seeking to let it rest gently against her upper back, just between her shoulder blades. If she resisted or pulled away, he'd retract his touch again—but if she didn't, he would ever so slowly slide his paw down the ridge of her spine, following the marks he'd made with his claws with softer paw pads. He knew Relm didn't care much for touch, but if she was determined to push herself past her discomforts, maybe he could do something to help her there.

"Alastor Mendacium"