[Son of Laplace/Ignirus' POV!]
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'Between right and wrong, oftentimes, I had to choose things that I hated more. And even though it hurt me to my deepest core, I am still glad that I did it.' — Ignirus, Son of Laplace.
…
The bearer of day appears, carrying the light that ignites all lands off its sluggishness. It falls on my face, making me turn my eyes up a bit, looking through the window, at the burning sun at the horizon.
"Itchy," I complained as usual before sighing as I looked through the stack of papers at the desk. Sitting there all night made my body a bit sore but still I continued. There was still work to be done, there was still work to be finished.
But still, I put down the pen momentarily before relaxing my back against the chair, my eyes drifting towards the silver mirror, showing my demonic reflection, making me wonder again if this is what my father looked like? Perhaps he did? Or perhaps I looked more like my mother?
