Ciprian sat on the ground in the corner of the shrine. What remained of an old candle lay on its side near his feet. It had been white once, but now it was grey. Just like everything else here.
In the days that he'd been here, unsure of whether he was being held captive by the thing in his head or whether he was seeking asylum from his crimes, Ciprian had barely moved, partly because the Creature forced him to stay where it put him while it "rested," and partly because he was too broken to make the effort.
After what had happened in Rowan's garden, something inside Ciprian had shattered, and he had no interest in piecing it together again. For the first time in his life, he could see himself clearly.
He was a monster. He wasn't worthy of either of his children.
