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Summary
Just like Icarus, Dottore set his goal for the sun, and yet here Pantalone was, hopelessly enamoured with the moonlight left in its wake.
“And you must understand this, Feofan…”
His thumb traced slowly along Pantalone’s cheekbone, brushing away the tear that had escaped moments prior, the touch warm and achingly careful. It felt almost contradictory, this tenderness coming from the very same hands that had torn apart flesh, carved through divinity, reached fearlessly into horrors that would drive lesser men mad.
“Know that when I die, I will die satisfied."
Outside, somewhere beyond the frost-laced windows of the palace, the world continued to turn indifferently. The promise of war, of divine retribution, continued to loom over them. And Dottore—brilliant, monstrous, gentle Dottore—had always been born with his eyes fixed forward and upward.
“I will die on my own terms.”
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Pantalone was a very desperate man.
Series
- Part 4 of The Foolish Fatuus