“ does your pain have a voice ? ” :*
THE MERMAID’S VOICE RETURNS IN THIS ONE // accepting !
“—- Mngh…”
Dimitri’s head snaps the other way, a low growl rumbling from the back of his throat when he does. Azura’s voice resounds in his head, like a reverberating noise in an empty corridor. Pain… what a nonsensical word. How could he possibly know anything about pain, when it was not his to have? Why would he dare take such a selfish thing for himself, when he still hears the wails of his father – of Glenn, and all the others? Why would pain ever be his, when it is not his claws sunk into his own back – begging for release as they turn over in their buried coffins? No… this was not pain. This was punishment – wrought unto Dimitri the fateful day he survived in the place of those who’s lives were worth far more than his. When Dimitri’s eye flickers back to Azura, it is mulled – sullied with darkness.
“…..What do you know of pain?” comes the vicious spit of a wretched man. Anger begins to glaze over that darkness – raging in the cool blue of his iris. Yet, once more, he’s met with the calm sea – finding nothing in the depths of it. Dimitri’s hands clench – forming into fists at his sides. “Someone as monstrous as I cannot possibly feel any sort of pain. Someone such as I… —- hah… —- what despicable nonsense…! What game are you playing at…?! What could you possibly gain from questioning the dead?!”
A beast rises, then – trembling under the weight of his own grief. Dimitri’s blood boils in a surge of rage – violence thrumming under his skin, aching for an unraveling of self. Swiping at his lance, a vicious smile begins to bloom on Dimitri’s face – the embers of the past seering into his skin, the fire’s crackling louder.
“Haha… Hahahahaha!! Oh, you’re terribly mistaken, Azura,” the dead man cackles, sneering out her name like it burned him to hear it. He looms over her, like a frothing beast, and the smile falls in the wake of a snarl and deep scowl. “…!” He turns his back to Azura suddenly, head perking up as he’s gripping the base of his lance with both hands. He hears rats — scurrying about in his den of ruins. With another snarl, Dimitri marches forward, uttering the last of his truth to the songstress as the release pounds more and more in his eardrums, forming a cacophony with the wailing of his ghosts.
“I cannot blaspheme the dead by naming pain as my own, for I am the voice they need for their salvation…”
