[ what he wants —

with revin, there hadn’t be anything to take but the chains off his wrists. continued survival: a parting gift. he’s so careful of them since. ]

I don’t want whatever you steal.

[ which is two lies, really. he’s never given a fuck about graverobbing, and what he wants,

what he wants is someone still alive to scream at. fifteen years' caution and still he hasn't learned, but this time, there's no one left to hate. what he wants, idiotic: cloth between his fingers, a lungful of funeral smell. to bury his face in denial.

but that will pass. it has before. ]

I couldn't say which knucklebones are his, we haven't precisely sorted. You're welcome to try.

[ a string of beads doesn’t mean anything, and the fear in ilias’ face wasn't enough to keep him from lying of it for so long. leander could have them and their secrets for nothing at all,

save that leander's used his name. isaac has bent so often to the needs of the moment that it’s strange to remember now, what it’s like to spit in a face. it doesn’t feel any better.

but then, he never thought it would. ]