[The death of his mother. This was what apples meant to him. The red of her blood mimicked in the thin skin of the irritatingly unassuming fruit, and her visage jaundiced from the attack hours afterward when the police found her body. Such atrocity. Such brutality. The goings-on around him do not interest him whatsoever. Nor do the idiots milling around in them, all talking and laughing and unaware of his plight.
He'll have his revenge... and anyone who gets in his way will regret it. A plague upon them and their lineage. This is what awaits whoever dares defy his brooding plan, rage boiling over within his soul. The fools at the event have no idea what he is capable of. He leans back in his seat, far away from the crowd, nearly invisible in the darkness of the corner of which he has chosen.
He sits and consumes the fruit, ivories crushing down into the supple red skin and the tangy flesh below, and although the apple masks his sharp face, one can easily see he is scowling. A dark glimmer in his eyes conveys that he is in a foul mood, threatening to berate any who might step ill in his path.
no subject
He'll have his revenge... and anyone who gets in his way will regret it. A plague upon them and their lineage. This is what awaits whoever dares defy his brooding plan, rage boiling over within his soul. The fools at the event have no idea what he is capable of. He leans back in his seat, far away from the crowd, nearly invisible in the darkness of the corner of which he has chosen.
He sits and consumes the fruit, ivories crushing down into the supple red skin and the tangy flesh below, and although the apple masks his sharp face, one can easily see he is scowling. A dark glimmer in his eyes conveys that he is in a foul mood, threatening to berate any who might step ill in his path.
Come bother him?]