[ with all things considered, there's a fair chance heine doesn't. he's seen tears; he's seen lily sob about flowers and the little specks of tears nill could get. but he never understood. his eyes might have stung once, twice, but they are dry dry as gunpowder and concrete.

he is the one that spilled his proverbial guts and yet rin is the one that sniffs emotions down.

then he speaks of control and it's another pang of blackcoloured guilt, and loathing. ] Don't you think I've tried?

[ there's no anger in that and he hinges forward, a quick bend to his knees and a rise upwards, smooth as shadows. brushes away petals that cling to the dark trousers, to his jacket before folding hands into pockets.

he knows what a slip of control means. he knows that if the hound comes again, he may not be able to stop the flow of blood that follows through, stained in the grooves of his collar, under his skin. ] I won't stay dead, so that's out.

I can't be collared.

The only one that can control the Spine is - [ a break of tone, nearly indiscernible. ] - the old hag.

And if I ever meet her again, I won't give her the chance. [ mother, monster.

rin raises a good question, and the truth is more simple than anything. heine has coped in his very volatile way, and it left him with little knowledge of how to control. all he knows is fight, and that is all he can do against that ugly shit. ] - It's...impossible. For a thing like me. [ for the first time, he sounds young. she'll of a boy he was, coming to in blinding white.

he'd rather move on. ]