It wasn't absolution he wanted. Nigredo understood somewhere that this path came to a dead end. One could never find release from their existence, and for one whose being came as an abomination, they had not a single hope in being accepted as they were nor forgiven for their faults. The best that could be, the best one could hope for, was volition--control over actions and reactions. If Nigredo could guarantee absolute volition, then perhaps his brothers could overlook Executioner. Then perhaps he could forego the want for absolution.

Rubedo, however, wanted neither. He grabbed Nigredo to him and spoke words that denied purpose's definition. He told the youngest that a future self had refused their original design, that he had taken a much different path than what was allotted. That Rubedo owed him everything, for reasons and through methods Nigredo could not even begin to imagine.

Trapped within Rubedo's arms, he shook. Warmth slid to the forefront, and his face crumbled into tears. "But--" He cut off, vision and comprehension blurring, unable to find the words. "But I'm--"

Worthless. Wasn't he?