Re: Manor: Damian/Misha
[Imperfections were inevitable. Imperfections were a part of the code of humanity, and every other living creature on the planet, as far as Damian was concerned. But, he did not have to like that, and he certainly did not have to believe that it was beautiful. So, he did not. He knew imperfection led deep-vein to corruption. He knew that firsthand. He knew how black-biled people could be, how ruinous, evil, manipulative, and every other decaying, horrible ting, people could be. He would never call that beautiful either. Beauty was instinct, pristine forestland, adaptability, and the world without the herpes of humanity.
As for the painting, if Damian was aware of the change, he said nothing. If he was not, then he can hardly be blamed. The second of cold bit at his nose, but he ignored it and looked down as Misha settled against the desk as well. They were pressed together along the seam of their bodies, sides along one another as they had been atop the eave, at least until a pale finger came up to prick at Damian's chest. He lifted his chin once more, but he did not shrink back nor cross the space to flee.
He had almost asked about the whereabouts of Misha's mother until the boy stated she died.] How did she die? You were close with her? [A pause.] Why did your father wait, if he knew? [He said nothing of himself or weakness.]