Ankyra Sound to live and die by the sword

a contemplative quiet settles over the dreadfather; a familiar, perhaps even comforting feeling. for so long their vessel had thrived in such silences. it was only recently, with the dreadfather's takeover that talking felt comfortable. natural, even. the story of love does not touch the dreadfather as it might've touched another. they do not experience love as most do. it is more of an all consuming obsession; possession. toxic, just as the traits that have plagued them since their creation.

there was no need, the dreadfather replies, when the question rises of whether or not they chased thistle off. i am ...perhaps kinder, the word feels like poison as it leaves their lips; the urge to wrinkle their scarred muzzle at the word being applied to them in any manner was strong. thinly resisted. to those on the cusp of life and the void. she had been heading to their realm, after all. she was, in a way, my responsibility. like it was charons' responsibility to ferry the dead across the styx. to the dreadfather, this is the same concept.