[ He does not scream. There is a sound that escapes from his mouth, though -- a low, animal sound, something mournful and ancient. It's what the whales sound like when the butchers cleave through their flesh, a few notes out of a dying song.
He does not fall, but his feet are touching the ground and his hands find Grell's shoulders, grip them. Pale lids close over all-black eyes, his head dropping, forehead touching hers. As he has for thousands of years, he endures.
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He does not fall, but his feet are touching the ground and his hands find Grell's shoulders, grip them. Pale lids close over all-black eyes, his head dropping, forehead touching hers. As he has for thousands of years, he endures.
It is not pleasant. But it never has been. ]