Morningside Cuesta your ex-lover is dead

He was cute. Zamael watched his face bloom into a sly smile as he lifted his head, then began to open his mouth. Was he gonna howl or some--oh, what the fuck. "Dude," Zamael burst out, his face going from charmed to flabbergasted in record time. "I. . .jeez. Sorry about that, I guess? I'd ask you what happened, but. . ."

He broke off awkwardly, looking away. Where there should have been the salmon pink of a tongue between sharp rows of teeth, there was only darkness. Gums, yes, and scar tissue, but nothing else. What torture had he been put through, and by whom?

Zamael's problems suddenly paled in comparison.

"Do you live around here?" he asked, trying to shift the subject to something more palatable (no pun intended). "Don't worry, I'll only ask yes or no questions." This last statement dangled in the air, sardonic but accommodating, in its own twisted way. He didn't have much to talk about, but perhaps the boy would drag it out of him. Somehow.