[He tries to dredge up the hatred. The undying fire that kept him going for eternities.
It’s still there. Inexhaustible until the heat death of the universe. But it’s been banked, a low, beating ember, instead of the wildfire: Khaslana has already burnt himself out once, and if he’s to burn again another pyre has to be built and he has hollowed himself out too much for one.
But he still snarls. Still moves fast, lunging upwards, trying to get his hands around Phainon’s neck.
no subject
It’s still there. Inexhaustible until the heat death of the universe. But it’s been banked, a low, beating ember, instead of the wildfire: Khaslana has already burnt himself out once, and if he’s to burn again another pyre has to be built and he has hollowed himself out too much for one.
But he still snarls. Still moves fast, lunging upwards, trying to get his hands around Phainon’s neck.
(Any touch is better than no touch at all.)]