[Dimitri hates that this is the reality between them now, caught in a loop of tattered communication and a friendship gone sour. He hates that he will never be able to satisfy Felix and his perception of him, and he hates that he feels no need to justify his monstrous self to the other. All the unflattering parts, the creature that hears only the voices of the dead calling out for retribution, the one that feels a righteous satisfaction in cutting down those who deserve it... He cannot deny it. But he cannot apologize for it, either, not when he is only acting in the stead of those who can no longer do the same.
His relationship with Felix, this old childhood friend of warm memories in the obliterating Faerghus winters, it's withered up and dried, just a dead thing at his feet. One more failure on his path laden with them.
He's sorry for it; the guilt is a blade slipped in-between his ribs. But what is there to say? Nothing. Perhaps that's for the best, in the end, to sever any hope of salvaging the past, and instead allow it to rot in the sun.]
I understand, and I agree. I suppose I've just been tired as of late. Long hours of training is necessary for bouts of improvement, as I'm sure the Professor would agree, but maybe this is proof that I should afford myself a day off.
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His relationship with Felix, this old childhood friend of warm memories in the obliterating Faerghus winters, it's withered up and dried, just a dead thing at his feet. One more failure on his path laden with them.
He's sorry for it; the guilt is a blade slipped in-between his ribs. But what is there to say? Nothing. Perhaps that's for the best, in the end, to sever any hope of salvaging the past, and instead allow it to rot in the sun.]
I understand, and I agree. I suppose I've just been tired as of late. Long hours of training is necessary for bouts of improvement, as I'm sure the Professor would agree, but maybe this is proof that I should afford myself a day off.
[Eh, he probably won't.]