There was something that must be known about Albedo before we continue.
The child, as can be said quite incorrectly, could live off of the screams of others if he deemed them interesting enough. Creation blooms after destruction, and what better way to watch that birth than to cause it himself? Albedo lived for two things, and two things only.
His brothers; his twin. And the pure and simple fact of distracting himself from the pulsating reminder that all would fall and he would still be alive. Boredom was death, if but only a mental kind, and it was not one that Albedo was willing to risk.
So living with another, in this near-mundane kind of setting, was nothing but a distraction. A new type of lifestyle, a new type of interaction, to keep his mind's movements more ingrained in something other than death.
...The other person, however, had become nothing like a distraction. But that is a different story.
All that needs to be said is that Albedo saw everything, as he always would; that he heard the scream and the crash that came after, and he sat on the torn couch, head cocked to the side in idle thought, eyes hollow, and wondered. Wondered.
Surprisingly, the boy hadn't yet gone to her. He only had remained where he was, legs crossed beneath him, and wondered. Thought and pondered. On what next to do.
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The child, as can be said quite incorrectly, could live off of the screams of others if he deemed them interesting enough. Creation blooms after destruction, and what better way to watch that birth than to cause it himself? Albedo lived for two things, and two things only.
His brothers; his twin. And the pure and simple fact of distracting himself from the pulsating reminder that all would fall and he would still be alive. Boredom was death, if but only a mental kind, and it was not one that Albedo was willing to risk.
So living with another, in this near-mundane kind of setting, was nothing but a distraction. A new type of lifestyle, a new type of interaction, to keep his mind's movements more ingrained in something other than death.
...The other person, however, had become nothing like a distraction. But that is a different story.
All that needs to be said is that Albedo saw everything, as he always would; that he heard the scream and the crash that came after, and he sat on the torn couch, head cocked to the side in idle thought, eyes hollow, and wondered. Wondered.
Killing someone to keep them always seemed so passé, but it had crossed his mind.
Surprisingly, the boy hadn't yet gone to her. He only had remained where he was, legs crossed beneath him, and wondered. Thought and pondered. On what next to do.