Very little does. He's been buried, beaten, set on fire, chased through impossible mazes and hurled into the stratosphere. He's met things picked straight from nightmares, wooden clowns wearing human skin and mounds of meat and walking insect hives disguised as human beings. Things bent and twisted beyond imagination, war ghosts with knives still sharp enough to kill and creatures born of pure darkness. And while it hits a little close to home, the understandable hurt of one woman--- one beautiful, powerful, disciplined, intelligent, loyal, valuable woman--- wouldn't be enough to scare him away.
She buries her face in his shoulder, and he, like a garden, finds contentment in being dug into.
"I can see the ugliest parts of anything," he informs her. "And anyone. If there was cause for me to look away, I would have by now."
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Very little does. He's been buried, beaten, set on fire, chased through impossible mazes and hurled into the stratosphere. He's met things picked straight from nightmares, wooden clowns wearing human skin and mounds of meat and walking insect hives disguised as human beings. Things bent and twisted beyond imagination, war ghosts with knives still sharp enough to kill and creatures born of pure darkness. And while it hits a little close to home, the understandable hurt of one woman--- one beautiful, powerful, disciplined, intelligent, loyal, valuable woman--- wouldn't be enough to scare him away.
She buries her face in his shoulder, and he, like a garden, finds contentment in being dug into.
"I can see the ugliest parts of anything," he informs her. "And anyone. If there was cause for me to look away, I would have by now."