Chris Loss is a warlock. An alcohol-loving, memory-ridden warlock, who has had more one-night-stands than anybody else in Oxford.
Then, Valentine kidnaps his sister and he must go to New York to find her.
But, she is not the only thing he finds in...
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[ the old guard|archivesys| hozier, work song|boymiffy| jay hulme, jesus at the gay bar| anne carson, the glass essay| seanen middleton, the chaos within detail]
Christopher Loss' first act of destruction was the drawing of his breath.
He lived and his mother died. No mortal human can withstand the birth of a warlock child. They do not get to hold their children in their arms. They do not get to name them. They push, and push, and die as a child's screams fill the air. And a father stares down at the abomination that killed the woman he so desperately tried to save.
They blame the son, but it is the father that cuts.
Lucifer and God. Isaac and Abraham. Christopher and Isaiah.
Sons banished, sacrificed, beaten. Sons ruined from the first step, first breath, first fall. Sons who live with scorn woven into their blood. They have never been wanted. They will never be wanted.
Who can love a son?
Who can love a monster?
Christopher has not always been a Loss. Lost. But he was branded one by a warlock with blue skin and a kind smile, who extended an arm to a broken child and showed him how to navigate a world that would never love him. Warlocks are half demon, half human. Nobody cares much for the human part.
Immortality serves them well, for a time. They fall in love. Fall out of love. They wave away the passage of time and rely on each other for companionship. They move like clockwork through the world and hide their unaging faces as their loved ones grow older, and older, and older. Immortality serves them. And it is long, and it is boring, and it is being alive without purpose.
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