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Summary
He had always known the Spell would be cruel to him—it was written in his fate, carved into the enamel of his existence; to be somehow spared of such suffering was an undeniable omen of something far more disastrous on the horizon.
Even so, he didn't expect it to take away his capacity for hatred—for spite.
Worse still was how comforting it was, to exist without that seething mass of agony he had grown used to the ache of. If he could, he would hate it.
Yet even that freedom had been scorned from him.
Series
- Part 2 of Apotheosis