Vivian silently listened. So it was in all likelihood that Hakon was Daravinic by blood, and perhaps been a servant in a Veir’s household by the sounds of things. The Entente were notoriously evil, and Hakon’s poor father may have made things worse by fleeing. Torture was one thing, but turning tail? Escaping? That a Veir could never tolerate, or he would be the one who could be slipped by servants. Every failing was a needle to them. There was a reason for their evil. They all sat at the same carcass, each shoving rotten meat into each others’ mouths without questioning why they did it. It led to broken men like his own Veir, and Hakon.
He watched him with pity in his eyes. “You were so young.” He said softly. “Your village should have approached you with love and understanding, not hatred. Not leaving you here with nothing and no one, and only memories of your parents.” Vivian reached for Hakon’s hand again. He had been initiated into Grave by brainwashing. Convincing him to become another tool. Not a love of the magic.
“Malformity means to lose yourself.” He said softly. If Hakon permitted him, he would stroke his fingers over his palm again. “For me, it was the insect. Insects clothe themselves in skin, and dissolve. I felt every part of me burn apart, flesh sloughing off of bone, down to my eyes burning away, my jaw falling off, fingers disintegrating. Believe me when I say I know pain. But I reformed myself, and burst free of my cocoon a mage. Alone…in blood and skin and the remnants of what I was.”
Vivian looked into Hakon’s eyes. “Insects aren’t kind. To themselves, or others.”
