When I die, I'll let go

He chuckled, amused. By her presence, her existence, her miraculous reappearance in his life. But he was a cynic too, and he couldn't help but wonder. Why here, why now? He had shed his captors for the first time in his life. He was running free, and here was his history, just waiting for him.


“You don't think the red suits me?” He asked, raising two forepaws and spreading them. Displaying rather a lot of blood. Death was always so… messy.


“Ahh.” He said softly as she stepped closer to him. Looking in his eyes, and he found himself looking into hers. Looking for that kid they had called Wormwood. But his exclamation wasn't for her eyes, it was for her words. He closed up the jester, buttoning it up like a suit. “Don't you want to play a little more first?” He asked, Almost teasing. But it was too late, her question was out there. “You're asking the wrong question, little Wormwood. What did it take to be free? Now there's a good one. It took feeding the earth the taste of blood. Do you want an example?” He leaned a little closer to her, but the playfulness was gone. Here was the survivor. The menace.