Andarin: The Mountains: Then I'll be nice.

“This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown.:
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout 'Save Us!'...:
...and I'll look down, and whisper, 'No'"

Love was a rather touchy subject for Nicodemus. He had loved with all his heart and soul, and likewise had been loved. But the sad thing with love is that it came with heartbreak. And heartbreak was something that you never forgot. It was why he was the way he was, why in every laugh there still lingered a shadow of despair and pain. His lovers were ghosts, and they made a point of haunting him and making him feel guilt for each. They dance across his mind then, with Lycoris’ words. Illuiette, Illiana, Hawthorne…he sighs with each name. Each a different tale, each ending sadder than the last.

He never had much luck with love. But Nicodemus knows enough in this world to know that a life without it was no life at all, no matter how badly it would end, or how much it hurt.

Her words come quickly, and now he understands her element and why she had it. Air was indecisive, quick to change. He smiles inside at the thought, because Lycoris, like the air, was quick to change topics. It didn’t bother him in the least, it was simply an observation. But her question strikes him, and he is rather taken aback. So much that he has to think before he answers. “Well,” He chews over the word before letting more out. “I think that it’s possible to not understand different kinds of love.” He pauses. “Like a child feels love for everyone because he or she does not really know what it is, nor understand it.” A shake of his mane. “It’s all a matter of experience. Children, in my opinion, do not know what love is. Because it is so complicated.” He lets his eyes fall to her. “I’m sorry.” He chuckles. It was easy for a Seer to be philosophical. “I’m rambling. It’s really hard to explain.”

SEER

**NICODEMUS**

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.

Picture Copyright to Artwithapulse at Deviantart