Hideaway Strath I wonder why I'm so afraid

His confident disposition seemed to do well and Charles nodded when Arlette said that he'd found a good home here. Nice. Yeah, fuck 'em. Moms, am I right? he said with a roll of his eyes. He didn't know the gritty details, but he knew what moms were like. Leta had been pretty pristine looking, so he didn't think that those scars were from Valette, right? He couldn't imagine. Besides, moms tended to leave much deeper scars than just those of the flesh.

Then Arlette suggested starting over, and introduced herself again. Charles hoped that some day, he could look at Arlette and not think of Leta every time. It wasn't that the two were identical by a long shot, but there were enough things that reminded him of her there.

I'm Charles, he said, feeling kind of dumb introducing himself when mere moments ago, Arlette had said his name. The fastest stick finder you could find ever. He grinned at that, hoping that it would be a trait that would appeal to Arlette like it had to Leta. They weren't little children anymore, of course, but well... It was all he had, really. Straws to grasp on.

When she finished talking, there was one question that had been burning in the back of Charles' mind ever since he had run into Arlette here again. Those wounds — did they do that? he asked, a slight quiver in his voice. He wasn't sure if it would be a bad thing or a good thing. The problem was that his body longed for physical punishment and pain, but his mind and soul were afraid of it and wanted to stay away from it, always leaving Charles in a wicked limbo.