qupid911

Your voice let out a pained croak when you accidentally ripped a picture of your family halfway down the middle. Quickly, your fingers fumbled over the pieces and carefully puzzled them back together, timidly putting them back into your sock. Where you always kept it, since you'd always found open pockets unreliable. And sometimes, your own instincts. The way you had thought that somewhere, deep down inside, he had a soul - or hell, even a beating heart - was sickening. Idiotic, even. There was no humane part of him. He had no conscience, no mercy for anyone or anything. The Lich, he was just... cold. And there was no way he was letting