Chapter Text
Sometimes gratitude may be quite inconsistent. Miquella should be grateful to Mohg for freeing him from his curse. But he couldn't make himself thank his half-brother genuinely. Miquella didn't ask to be ripped from his cocoon at the foot of his Haligtree. He didn't ask to be kidnapped and get the Formless Mother’s blessings. He also didn't want to ascend to full godhood. All he wished was to heal his sister’s and his afflictions. Of course, Mohg helped him. In his profitable way. The Lord of Blood cured his curse of eternal childhood, but he demanded the title of the king-consort and the revival of the Mogwyn dynasty in return. And Miquella was able to provide him with both. He felt like he was obliged to his half-brother. His curse wasn't an easy one. Mohg had done a great job to reverse it. Perhaps it took him a long time to explore its complicated nature. Miquella paid respect to his efforts. But still, it wasn't enough to forget the fact that Mohg had stolen him from Elphael and had ruined Miquella’s plans.
The empyrean consoled himself: nevertheless, Mohg was nice to him.