Anna's Random SW Rants

He still remembered the way Rook had looked at him after Spite had drawn blood the first night in the Lighthouse. He remembered the worry on Rook’s face. A look that came too close to pity. “I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon.” Blood and rust. Hands scraped raw against rough walls, bruises and broken ribs, the sickening impact of his body throwing itself against the wall over and over again while he scrambled in his mind for control, every moment of weakness seized and exploited. The smell of rust, the smell of misery, the smell of pain AND SALT. Rook’s eyes had looked concerned; his voice had been laced with gentle insistence. He’d meant well, but it was a laughable comment. Lucanis had been alone with a demon for months