The unlikely union of light and darkness.
"My soul is ruined; made of dead stars, and darkness. And yet, you managed to find light in my hollow heart. Beauty in my unholiness. You mended the fissures of my being. And for that, I shall worship you fo...
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REGULUS LUCIEN WINTERS was seldom surprised by what the universe threw at him. Karma, retaliation, punishment, he had heard it all, hissed to his ears by zealous disciples moments before their expiry. A comforting thought, he assumed, to believe their demise would have meaning, eventual vengeance, perhaps in the form of his own withering body. But Winters never thought of these misfortunes as means of retribution. He merely considered them obstructions, smears to his agenda. And a great, utter nuisance he could do without. In any case, the boy was always prepared, and never once ambushed by the transgressions of his past. He had steadied himself against the odds. Had hardened his footing on the callous grounds of the world.
But this- he had certainly not expected.
Nevertheless, Regulus quickly regained his foothold, and rearranged his face into that of passiveness. He held his head high, eyes cast into hard marble as he gazed at the emerging figure, who seemingly had stepped from one shadow onto the next.
The shadow materialized before him, a languid smile on his lips while his pale fingers worked on the hood of his cloak. After a moment, it fell to display stern features- a mold of dark contours, and deep edges- pale blue eyes- a dull reflection of Regulus's marine irises- and faded blond locks.
"Son," the man greeted, subtle mockery entwined to the threads of his deep vocal chords. His pale eyes bore into the younger heir, but much to Regulus's dismay, there was nothing discernible. No schemes he could unwind, and decipher. No perceptible fury he could see.
"Father," the young Winters offered, pressing his lips into a smile so forced, it echoed the tightness of a grimace. The young heir did not make to mask his animosity, he let it fold over Arius Winters like a cold shadow, a suffocating remembrance of a distant, childhood promise. I will hate you until my last rattling breath.
Arius's languid smile faltered by a fraction. His lip twitched downward, into what one may have assumed was a frown. But before it could truly take its form, it was gone, replaced by a reserved expression. Arius nodded, an acceptance, perhaps a resignation, and turned his attention to the dim-lit burrow.
"Quite the empire you have built," he noted, eyes trailing past the makeshift throne, murky jars, clipped newspapers, and glinting weapons."Following in my footsteps, I see," the senior purred, evidently pleased with the prospect.
At this, Regulus openly sneered, no longer able to subdue his hostility. He was clever enough, however, to swallow his retorts. Arius Winters, after all, could only tolerate so much from his heir, and insolence was not one of these things. Regulus was not foolish as to betray his father's good graces. And so, the young Winters forced his temper aside, and composed his nerves. By the time Arius returned his eyes on him, there was nothing but boredom, and slight disinterest on the contours of his face.
