Cracks in the Mask

A Light Touch

Notes:

Hey Descendants!

Ready for some chats between siblings?

That's what we have in store for you today.

We hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to let us know you were here. It means so much to us when we hear from you, all the support we receive as writers means the world to us, and we wouldn't be able to continue this story without you.

At least, not with any consistency.

Enjoy!

Lots of Love,

-Dark-

He settles in the rafter, making himself comfortable as he leans against a support beam.

He had no idea what the fuck the bitch was so happy about, but he knew it wasn't going to be good for someone. Still, it seemed it wasn't happening until morning.

He worries his lip between his teeth, debating whether or not he should head back to the ship. He was concerned about Harry after their conversation. And Uma was going to be livid when she found out that Harry let him wander off.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure Uma would let him come back out once he did return home. He lets out a deep sigh.

What a pain in the ass.

He already knew the answer. Knew it would be selfish to stay when Harry was probably getting chewed out after the day he'd had. He frowns, feeling torn as he turns to look out the window.

He grimaces, his nose crinkling in disgust at the grotesque sight. He still couldn't believe Maleficent had legit put the three heads up on display as a warning. It just seemed- He wasn't sure.

She never struck him as that breed of villain before. She was so, prim and proper about a lot of things. So she was either hella pissed, or hella fucking worried about something or someone encroaching on her title as Mistress of the Isle.

His nose twitches. He was just grateful Mal was the fuck away from this shit. That Carlos and E weren't here to see it. Or to see what he'd devolved into. That he would never have to see the look of disappointment in Jay's eyes.

If Harry thought he was a monster for just thinking about torturing, what the fuck did he think about him killing those sick fucks the way he had? He places a hand on his stomach as it starts to turn.

What was wrong with him? He'd meant it when he'd told him, or was it them, that he hadn't felt anything while he'd done it. Or after it was finished.

Had Frollo been right? Was he some sort of demon? Killing was a cardinal sin, and yet...

He takes a deep breath.

And yet he'd done it with ease.

Hadn't felt the slightest bit of regret or remorse.

Wasn't bothered at all by it.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He shakes his head as he pulls his eyes away from the grotesque trophies.

It wasn't like he was dead inside or emotionless. He felt shame when he'd talked about it, but he knew that was more from the fact he was pretty sure, whether they admitted it out loud or not, that they were concerned. And why shouldn't they be? Even he could tell there was something off about the lack of anything over killing.

Still, he knew he felt shit. For instance, his guilt was making him want to fucking vomit right now. He knocks his hood down as he scratches his head anxiously.