[ He does his best to not throw the towel aside. He has to remind himself constantly Morgana is present; it will not do to lose his temper in front of her. He knows how quickly violent he can become and he knows how frightening that can be to witness even when you are not the target.
But he feels so trapped.
He knew he was so—the locked door and windows were not subtle—but it is now that he can feel the weight of imprisonment dragging across his skin. And it is not just now. He fled his home to avoid the obligations thrust upon him. He refused to serve a king he did not respect. Every step since then has been his choice. He went where he wished; he did as he liked. There was nothing and no one to dictate his route except him. If asked about fate, he would have arrogantly claimed it did not exist; life was one's choices and one's choices alone.
Being brought here, being made a mere puppet on impersonal and uncaring strings that invade every aspect of his life...
He hates this place. He hates it more than he has ever hated anything. And he hates it all the more for having people he cannot help but give a damn about. People who no longer or have not yet come to exist in his world. People he will never know there, not like he can here.
He abruptly stalks away from Morgana and heads for the window. Resting his hands against the sill, he leans his weight against them. His eyes shut, his shoulders inching together in tension. Try as he might he cannot stop the feeling like walls closing around him. It is as unwelcome as it is unfamiliar and he is all the more ashamed that this is happening and someone is here to witness it. ]
no subject
But he feels so trapped.
He knew he was so—the locked door and windows were not subtle—but it is now that he can feel the weight of imprisonment dragging across his skin. And it is not just now. He fled his home to avoid the obligations thrust upon him. He refused to serve a king he did not respect. Every step since then has been his choice. He went where he wished; he did as he liked. There was nothing and no one to dictate his route except him. If asked about fate, he would have arrogantly claimed it did not exist; life was one's choices and one's choices alone.
Being brought here, being made a mere puppet on impersonal and uncaring strings that invade every aspect of his life...
He hates this place. He hates it more than he has ever hated anything. And he hates it all the more for having people he cannot help but give a damn about. People who no longer or have not yet come to exist in his world. People he will never know there, not like he can here.
He abruptly stalks away from Morgana and heads for the window. Resting his hands against the sill, he leans his weight against them. His eyes shut, his shoulders inching together in tension. Try as he might he cannot stop the feeling like walls closing around him. It is as unwelcome as it is unfamiliar and he is all the more ashamed that this is happening and someone is here to witness it. ]