“Hungarian?!”, Whip queried, like Anton had said he was from Mars; then the pixie’s sapphire-blue eyes grew large as saucers and his smile spread wide across his face, “Oooooooo! Will you fix me a goulash?!”, his tongue made a circle and moistened his lips, “I love goulash! I’ve never really had a real goulash, but I saw one on TV and it looked so yummy, that I know I would love it if you made me one!”.
Whip couldn’t help his impulse to hug Anton; as attractive as he was, the young man still had the aura of a wounded bird about him. The pixie had to comfort someone so obviously in need.
It was such a nice hug to begin with and the fact that Anton called out Wait! only made it better; Whip was encouraged by such demonstrations of shy insecurity. He stopped nuzzling into the hug when the first razor-sharp pain shot through his heart; images of his beloved mother being eaten by the filthy, nightmarish ogre. He screamed and fell to the floor, cradling his head between his fists, “NO! Nononononono!”, he wailed as he rocked back and forth and tried to re-bury the sound of the wet crunch his mother made when the ogre bit into her and the sight of the trail of blood running down the fouls beast’s chin. They were taken unaware and Whip’s younger brother was almost a second victim; it was Whip who held it together and zoomed in to save his brother and earned a scar across his back from the God-forsaken ogre. He relived it all as he eventually curled into a ball…
“Why? Why, Anton? How could anyone be so cruel? Are you a demon?”, Whip’s eyes looked up at the young man piteously, “I’m begging…take the memories away”.