[ is there a scientific reason, roman wonders, why his life is a constant deluge of shit? or is it all a series of random occurrences, perfectly and incidentally combined into one big steaming pile of awful? some might call it divine will, but roman doesn't believe in god. even if he did, he'd have a bone or three to pick with his father who art in heaven.
he loiters away from the crowd at the feast; though he's well-dressed enough for a party, his demeanor is anything but merry. he keeps quiet, but something resembling outrage is just beneath the surface. a mixture of childish impudence and wariness keeps him away from the food for as long as he can bear — he's not persephone, he knows not to eat the pomegranate seeds — but hunger for something else entirely begins to claw at him. rather than turn the dining hall into a crime scene, he swallows his pride and his better judgment.
as he integrates himself into the crowd, he eyeballs those he brushes past. eventually, he can't hold it in anymore and he asks, accusatory: ] The fuck are you celebrating for?
roman godfrey | hemlock grove | unseelie
he loiters away from the crowd at the feast; though he's well-dressed enough for a party, his demeanor is anything but merry. he keeps quiet, but something resembling outrage is just beneath the surface. a mixture of childish impudence and wariness keeps him away from the food for as long as he can bear — he's not persephone, he knows not to eat the pomegranate seeds — but hunger for something else entirely begins to claw at him. rather than turn the dining hall into a crime scene, he swallows his pride and his better judgment.
as he integrates himself into the crowd, he eyeballs those he brushes past. eventually, he can't hold it in anymore and he asks, accusatory: ] The fuck are you celebrating for?