“Purpose! I have no purpose, unless it is killing time in awaiting the end? Being alone?
“You’ll always have me,” whimpered the man on the floor. “Always.” Jean silenced him with a kick.
“Must you feel the need to demonstrate your superiority in such ways?” Gairynzvl had never once looked away, his stare continuing to break down any barriers between the two.
Jean sighed, as the Fey shook his imposing wings and cracked his neck.
“All I wish for is peace and quiet. Unfortunately, violence is often the only way to secure it. Especially where Sir Walter Merryweather is concerned,” Jean added.
Gairynzvl glanced at the comatose form on the rooftop, then back to Jean. He appraised the brooding form before him and struck upon a revelation. “You do not desire death; you feel it imposed upon you.”
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