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The newly named Vanitas slowly walks through the snow, away from the wreckage of what his life once was. It isn’t his first time doing so and he quietly doubts it will be his last.
He’s underdressed for the weather and can feel snow seeping through his shoes.
His fingers have long since gone numb where they’re curled around the book he’s carrying.
His book. It might as well be since the previous owner is dead. Leaving to him this book and the name to match.
Well, and…
He glances down at his arm where it’s still bleeding sluggishly, dripping into the snow. He should take care of that at some point. The wound itself isn’t looking good, the sickly combination of flowing blood, the beginnings of bruising, and the bright blue of what will soon develop into a Mark of Possession.
He doesn’t need to wonder what it will look like. He’d already seen it on Mikhail.
Mikhail…
If tears join the blood he’s leaving behind in the snow then at least no one is around to be able to tell.