He has nothing, he wants nothing. He’s broken, not bent. He’s salty, not bitter.
Romeo is everything he wants to be.
He’s a wizard.
He’s a whisper in your mind.
He’s a liar, most of all.
I was born in the blazing sun, forged in the heats of Heaven, smithed in the depths of the ocean. A ship found me floating in the waters, a halo of pure magic shimmering over my body. I was taken to Ankmaar but the city of shadows rejected me, threw me in the depths of its bowels, vomited me on its beaches. I’m the bleached remains of glory and splendor this city did not deserve.
Or not, Or I was born in an high court, trained by nobles and initiated to the secrets of court. My life was flowers and honey, music and love. Then she came to court and took me away, took my life, my soul, my spirit, walked me in the alleys and the dark pools between the lanterns. She taught me the dirty tricks and the lies, the filth and the gutter water. I’m the shadow of me, I’m the dark in the corners.
Or not. Or my mother was a whore and my father a sailor. I grew looking up at my better, sour and bitter, jealous and sharp. Magic is the gift of my blood, the chance for revanche: I wanted it, I honed it. Lies are my sweet sharp blade, whispers my heavy hammer, light steps my howling charge. The better you are, the more I want you down. No one is safe.
Only one of these stories is true. Or maybe not even that.