Nova Peak The rhythm of a beating, braver heart.

no regret, only the contrition that washed through his soul like frigid seawater. "i am sorry," he said simply, weakly. "i did not expect this to be so cruel to you." and how could he not? he had not thought ahead, only in the selfish moments of his grand plans, a legacy to continue that of diaspora in stigmata's name.
illusion. grandiosity. endearment and anguish in his shalebloom eyes.
he had no more left to say, not in the moment that left him weakened and faltering inside the stony planes of his impassive face. mahler, turned to rock, unhewn and ugly; gone within whilst nyx surely suffered outside the closed door. he forced himself to quit the tightening of his muscles, the leap away from the question he himself had asked. but he dared not speak again.