‘ There’s nothing to discuss. ‘ Leave it be, Thexan.
Voice is quiet, deadly. It resonates within his frame, his youth at odds with such power. Gaze is drawn to the other, yet snarl morphs lips. This so-called discussion has been asked before, has been fought with useless words and angered breaths. Eyes can see the emotion, the care the other carries for him and it angers him.
‘ I am not a child. I do not need to be lectured. ‘
( you sound like father. )
‘ nor am i, brother, but bearing this alone accomplishes NOTHING. ‘
wounded tongue TOILS to conceal the effect it has on him, manifesting in the TWITCH of his fingers, the straightening of his spine. HELPLESSNESS has set on him like a disease ––––– ––––– each day he looks to the face of his sibling ;& each day, like an amnesiac, he finds himself more LOST within those sharp angles, jagged lines.
( he fears not for his own misdirection ; that of the mirrored form at his shoulder, in his eyes, takes precedence. )
‘ i am not here to PATRONIZE you, i am here to help you. ‘
