[ something so small feels incredibly complicated to him. mostly because he doesn't actually know dorian's friend or the circumstances around his creation, what drove him to such dislike. perhaps it could be that larus is still young for a vampire, but he's met a plethora of others in varying shades of hatred—towards themselves, towards humanity. it's a lonely, envious sort of long life, more a curse than anything else, and sometimes, he wishes to let go of it all. but those moments are exceedingly rare and brought upon by great duress.

his fingers trace along the shape of dorian's collarbone, pushing fabric aside to expose more skin. ]

Everything is always what you make it. [ which sounds incredibly pragmatic of him. ] Finding purpose isn't easy, but it's the same with humans too. Sometimes, you fail to escape the thought there's nothing else.

[ but there's always something. always. of course, a lot of larus' motives back home where fueled by survival and spite, a different sort of hatred directed at someone else rather than himself. he could hate what he is for eternity, but he couldn't hate himself. not without something else behind it. ]

I don't want to be like that.