The sea spits him out like poisoned fruit onto the sand, dark bay bleeding onto soft gold beneath a weak but warm winter sun. Saltwater sloughs off of him as he stumbles forward, each step weighted by the fatigue of a long and violent journey. At some point along the way, he had lost sight of his sister following behind in the distance and a sense of satisfaction had come over him at that moment. He didn’t think that she had been killed - she was too stubborn to die so easily - but he had lost her and that was what mattered most.

A wicked pleasure ignites in his chest and a quiet rumble of laughter escapes him.

Vida had always been a thorn in his side, the only bright spot in a yawning expanse of cruelty lathered upon him since his very first shaky breath.

Moments older than he but worlds apart, she could never understand the suffering he endured and yet she still thought she could save him from inevitability. Foolish, hopeful, stupid girl. He was weaned on spite and superstition, there was nothing for him in kindness and love. His heart had shriveled and festered too long ago to ever be open to even his twin, who had never once felt the shame of rejection like he had so many times.

He hates her for it. It was never her fault, but it never mattered whose fault it was. She took everything good and left him with nothing but decay.

And so he became it, that sickly sweet rot that poisoned and blackened all that he touched.

Now, on the banks of a new shore he still feels it - that anger, chafing beneath his skin. It is a part of him, intrinsically woven into all the little pieces that came together to make him this monstrous thing.

He doesn’t know where he is, and he doesn’t care. He is alone, and without Vida to hold him back, the world is his to devour.

The monster is always hungry.