He understands cruelty. Has plenty of experience with it himself, the perfect impurity of his worship to his father pure in so much as it hasn't wobbled until very recently. Violence and murder need not be bedfellows with cruelty exclusively. But he's familiar enough with both to take Enver's words and hazard a guess. To mark somebody's face can be a cruelty as much as it can be desperation. He doesn't know which yet Enver's scars are.
Regardless he hears the message loud and clear; the bruises are acceptable, the scars are not. The realisation that he hasn't even thought about his blade once since he arrived here sets the squirming all the more insistent in his belly. He pushes on, his fingers brushed by the other man's chin as he speaks, only to allow them to drop away again to his waist.
A thought slams into him unbidden and surprises him enough that his lips part as though there's a gasp that hasn't been fully realised, even though the air in is sharp.
"I will never use you to worship my father." Perhaps it makes more sense to know that his preference is for blades. A blade skilled enough to end life quickly. Cleanly in its efficiency even if he does let the blood spill thereafter.
no subject
Regardless he hears the message loud and clear; the bruises are acceptable, the scars are not. The realisation that he hasn't even thought about his blade once since he arrived here sets the squirming all the more insistent in his belly. He pushes on, his fingers brushed by the other man's chin as he speaks, only to allow them to drop away again to his waist.
A thought slams into him unbidden and surprises him enough that his lips part as though there's a gasp that hasn't been fully realised, even though the air in is sharp.
"I will never use you to worship my father." Perhaps it makes more sense to know that his preference is for blades. A blade skilled enough to end life quickly. Cleanly in its efficiency even if he does let the blood spill thereafter.