[There was no denying the similarities between their stories. Silco might as well be the one person he shares the most common ground with. They were both power hungry and ruthless, stopping at nothing to achieve their goals and resist the destiny. They were the wolf in sheep clothing, hiding in plain sight under shepherd's nose.
Even their journey's followed a similar path. A life overshadowed by oppressive power, choking them out and forcing them in the quiet and resigned role determined for them by nation. They both had found a dream -- which only was stolen away by a betrayal, leaving behind only a husk, a shadow of their former selves.
And now Silco was asking the story behind the betrayal that happened all those years ago, the event that had killed his previous, weak self. Richard eyes were focused on the altar, mind revisiting that evening. But strangely enough, he felt nothing. No panic, fear or pain -- just a distant recollection.]
..He called me a demon. [He answers after a brief silence. That's right, Henry had seen him for who he was and failed to love him. He had murdered his heart and Richard took his life. It had been inevitable.
Richard then turned his head to look into his lover's eyes, his own expression now confident and unwavering. ] The politics are nothing but another battleground. And just like with war the stakes are high, life or death. And that is exactly why men like us do what we do. We fight, Silco. The moment we stop we enter to our graves.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2025-02-12 04:18 am (UTC)Even their journey's followed a similar path. A life overshadowed by oppressive power, choking them out and forcing them in the quiet and resigned role determined for them by nation. They both had found a dream -- which only was stolen away by a betrayal, leaving behind only a husk, a shadow of their former selves.
And now Silco was asking the story behind the betrayal that happened all those years ago, the event that had killed his previous, weak self. Richard eyes were focused on the altar, mind revisiting that evening. But strangely enough, he felt nothing. No panic, fear or pain -- just a distant recollection.]
..He called me a demon. [He answers after a brief silence. That's right, Henry had seen him for who he was and failed to love him. He had murdered his heart and Richard took his life. It had been inevitable.
Richard then turned his head to look into his lover's eyes, his own expression now confident and unwavering. ] The politics are nothing but another battleground. And just like with war the stakes are high, life or death. And that is exactly why men like us do what we do. We fight, Silco. The moment we stop we enter to our graves.