Chapter Text
~ Oakhurst
Louis had learned many lessons in his time. He collected them like trinkets—for it gave him purpose to continue on in his immortal life. Eternity was a curse, but it could be morphed, bended at his will. He had all the time to do anything, do everything he could >em/em< imagine. Master every trade, take every risk, forgive every act of disrespect, and learn the ways of every life a young lad could live.
The lesson of this situation was simple, yet true.
Wrath never slept.
His sharp eyes served him no purpose. All he could see was red and black, faint silhouettes of his people before him. The smoke was thick, choking out his throat and making his screams sound even more dreadful than he had anticipated. He wasn't even sure he was screaming anymore. Louis had felt pain before, but had never been burned. He had such a privilege to say he had never experienced such a level of torture… But now, he understood.
Louis always understood. Anything and everything was to be understood; for to understand is to learn and accomplish, so what is an eternal life without it? Even now, as the moisture in his undead body was being sucked from his form and turned to vapor and smoke, he understood. He had scared his kine. Somehow, someway, they had learned what he was, and became fearful. Humans were horribly fragile after all. Fragile like a fledgling's resolve.
Fragile like his fledgling's resolve.
His fledgling.
Owen was still sleeping.
Owen…
Oh, Owen.
Owen’s going to be ruined. He understood that, too… If he were to die, Owen’s world would crumble before him. He would have nobody to understand him, to listen, or hold his hand. He wouldn't have anyone else if Louis died. Louis was his everything, he knew that, he had carried that weight proudly before… Yet now, the ropes on his wrists made that weight crush his shoulders, shame of a burden, of an unfulfilled promise suddenly crushing his head to a mush of sorrow.
He promised. Louis had promised he wouldn't go. That he would see to the end of Owen's suffering. To the beginning of their eternal life. He had promised the suffering would be but a fraction of his years if he were to be turned. Louis promised to end his pain, and now, he has only managed to prolong it. Extend it until his dear met a cruel end, a cruel fate, just as Louis did now.
Wrath never slept.
Wrath held no mercy, not even for Owen. Not even for him. And unbeknownst to Louis, Wrath held no mercy for the children. The women. The innocent, the ones who had no say in Louis' death. It was all the same to the uncoordinated claws escorting them to a death just as unfortunate as Louis. Just as unfortunate as their murderer's fate.
Wrath was a curse. A pest, a deathly plague, every unfortunate fate was led by His hands. Louis knew this now. It filled him with a sense of dread, for his lover could not be saved. For once, this was a problem Louis was unable to fix. Eternity would not fix Owen’s sorrow. He would suffer. He would die later on to rest uneasy forevermore.
He was so ashamed.
…
He was so sorry.
Louis had already learned this lesson, however… Sorry could not fix this.
It would not contain Wrath.
But there was something else Louis had missed. The face of a friend… Or a coworker, some would say.
The face of a Veylocke.