"My two natures had memory in common."
5th of Saun, 716 Arc
- Not just any drab Nercromancer.
He had "tastes".
Andráska gave a bitter laugh, the candle light flickering wicked shadows across his high cheekbones and he ran a hand over his face, the drugs in his body now making him feel shaky and sick. Or perhaps that was just the repercussions of watching a man die. Whatever the reason, Alistair now seemed merely annoyed and his anger washed away. Like nothing had ever happened. And it was then, that even with alcohol and parties and wild company, that this would be a night Andráska would never truly be able to forget - ignore, yes. Move past... to be decided.
Andráska finally looked up at his older brother, and the two men behind him, and a dark fury began to build inside him. Necromancer. A word Andras had little experience with. He could recall a book he read as a teenager, where the villain had been a necromancer, content to cleanse the world of pain - because supposedly you couldn't feel sorrow when you were dead. But if you were Alis, you never felt anything anyway, so what did it matter? Their conversation replaying in his mind, he wondered if his brother was the bad guy. And where did that place him?
Looking at the man he had been spending his time with just chimes before and now, how he would never live again... Guilt mixed with Andráska's anger, fueled by how quickly Alistair seemed to dismiss all of it. 'So you play with dead things?' Andraska wanted to scream, 'Do you prefer your boyfriends before or after they've stopped breathing?'
Lips pressed tightly together, his leg jittered up and down as the minions moved like ghosts around the room, the smell of blood heavy upon them. Alis hesitated, lowering himself before him like approaching a wild animal and not his sibling of the last twenty one arcs. Good. He should be wary.
"Will you tell mother and father?" The question knocked the wind right out of him, and his leg froze to the floor, "Or Zvez? Or anyone?"
Never before had Andráska wanted to deck Alistair so hard in the fucking mouth. 'You selfish son of a bitch.' András had to focus on the floor, drilling into a speck of blood at his feet and focus on it to not swing at him. Alis continued, preaching about the good of the family and reputation. And of course, the fear that he would report the incident and have him killed. Andráska was a knight. If he wanted to, couldn't he drag Alistair into custody himself? The thought dissipated and his expression softened only slightly at the mention of Alistair caring for him. Why? What affection did he deserve? Now or ever?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Some protector of the people he was. He had been stupid thinking he could do something like this. A fool for thinking he could redeem himself? Father's face played in his mind, a broken reel playing over and over. If he found out, Andráska truly believed their father would find a way to use his influence and spin the story. Andráska would take the blame, not Alistair. Not the first born. Not the perfect, stoic prince of perfection. He always took the blame. A shaky breath left his lips and he quickly wiped away a tear that had started to fall from his face. Necromancer. Magic. Death. What did it change, really? All three of the Venora children were broken in some way. This was just another crack in the china.
Did he understand what this meant? Contrary to popular belief, Andráska was capable of thinking. The difference between him and his siblings was evident. Where Alistair obsessed over the preservation of things, Andráska always found a way to destroy them. And it was this reason, why he couldn't share tonight's secret. Because as much pain as the name Venora had brought him, it was the only name he had. And that was something even he couldn't break... not yet.
Andráska finally returned his brother's gaze, refusing to give his brother the reassurance he needed, "There's no good left in our family," he whispered ominously, the carefree and wild persona he usually wore gone. Instead, it was replaced by a handsome youth, somber and serious with no trace of a smile. He rose to his feet, and yanked his bolt free from the corpse's body. Stepping over puddles of blood, he went to retrieve his things, hating that this lesson had to be learned at all, "But I note your forgiveness," Acid dripped from his tongue, souring it with sarcasm, "Maybe it'll help me forgive myself."
Unable to bring himself to look at the man they had killed, or the other two undead that scrubbed furiously to hide their sins, Andráska looked towards the door.
