Perhaps it was just his luck. Part of the essence which made his core. The very string sewn into him pulled taut and plucked bare before the Moirai. Three sisters of fate that laughed as much over him during life as they would when taking it from him. Some people were born with purpose behind them, humanity had tried to explain the strange to themselves. Those, who have never broken a bone, not only protected from physical harm. Chosen for a different kind of suffering, as if life had spared their bodies only to test the unseeable parts of them — their minds, their emotions, their spirits. The ones who broke quietly, in places no one could see. Perhaps they were not so far off from the truth...
There was no calm to be found for him. Not anymore, not after this. Though his gaze did wander from Dieter to the crowd, walking down their left, then walking down their right, it always shifted back to what was more creature than man. Something working behind those glacial eyes, a mind nearly put to rest throughout their conversation.
What was left of the human? How much of it? How much of it was taken or changed violently, through impact, or force, or time. Did the Witch have the privilege to wonder? The time to care? Did he have the heart to? Feeling the presence of shock still lingering, making its home within the space of his bones. Waiting for the right time to surge back upwards and bring with it everything uncomfortable.
The sky was silent. No moving of shadow, no whisper of wind. No sound of wings gliding or feet finding perch. Instead, the voices of the people around them in conversation rose nauseatingly into the forefront of it all. Cattle, unaware. He was the only one with a voice. He was the only one that could do something, anything, to warn them. To incite their leave and make them all go away. Help them. If he would not know better and would not know that there was no chance of everyone escaping the thing residing within the Swede.
Swallowing down hard, the fretting, that agitated jittering of his own heart, asked him, no, begged the witch, to just go. To leave them all and save himself. The frost returned through it. Crystalized within his chest, from which it traveled through his veins into his extremities. The iciness of his fingers nagged him and Alexander had the urge to pinch the cold away from the tip of his nose.
„How much“, his voice low, pressed. His tongue felt heavy but not from the alcohol. He looked at Dieter, meeting his gaze. „How much do you need to eat?“