[The worst part is that he can't look away; can't flinch from the macabre show unfolding in front of him beyond a mental flinch, followed by the inevitable wave of nausea. It might be Fenris holding the sword, but it's obvious who is wielding it. It confirms much of what he'd suspected about Danarius, but in some ways had barely scratched the surface. In some ways, he was some kind of hideous amalgamation of Malkar and Kohlkis. He'd done terrible things, but only a few of them could be directly attributed to his master. Fenris appeared to have little choice in the matter. He can only guess at what it would have felt like, but he knows what he feels. Pain. Disgust. A rush of panic at the remembered helplessness, because he'd been that boy as much as he'd once been the man with the knife. Anger.
When the room and the doll comes back into focus, only one course of action seems to present itself. He frowns down at his hand and lights the doll on fire.
The doll burns for a moment before he tosses it to the floor to watch the flames destroy it in effigy. He eyes the wolf.]
You don't need that anymore. You are not his. You belong to nobody else but yourself.
no subject
When the room and the doll comes back into focus, only one course of action seems to present itself. He frowns down at his hand and lights the doll on fire.
The doll burns for a moment before he tosses it to the floor to watch the flames destroy it in effigy. He eyes the wolf.]
You don't need that anymore. You are not his. You belong to nobody else but yourself.