Sunbeam Lair i have become death, the destroyer of worlds

the shadow pelaged woman that rises within the mouth of the lair is petite; with features he can tell from the temple painting of sunlight upon her face as she draws nearer with a stretch, a chirp and a gentle toned hello that do not exactly appear to be full wolf. the blackbird hates the way his mind immediately jumps — as he studies her with his singular coalglow gaze — to the fact that she reminds him of one of his father's concubines. thinking such a thing was both a compliment as much as it was an injustice. she is immediately lovely, tufted ears and curling fur that makes her unique.

his singular way of thinking as the warmonger causes something vile to churn in his stomach and he averts emberglow gaze while the milky-white of heavily scar accented eye remains staring ahead always unseeing. ❝hello,❞ salvatore parrots. he, as all of his numerous half brothers and the idiot male souls that found themselves following killgrave like lost puppies, was not allowed to speak to the concubines. which, aside from frankie and his mother of whom remained an exception, was pretty much all the females of the loch.

to speak to a woman not of his own blood was slightly unnerving; and it wasn't fear. killgrave could choke on a dick and die for all salvatore cared and he wasn't afraid of her; still he remains uncertain. of himself, mostly; aware in some deep, dark corner that he could not escape that he was the unfortunate apple that did not fall far from the tree. ❝is this ... — are you staying here?❞ he manages to eventually ask after changing his question half way thru.