What a child you are.
The sentence came to him each time he felt the slight pangs of singed nerve endings arch up his spine. Every wound, every cut, it never seemed to heal well. Least of all his tail.
He didn't understand why his fingers and pads were still as pink as a newborn. Why he scarred so easily. Why, even with years of training and experience, he still couldn't throw a punch without hurting himself a little.
He always thought of the day he took his tail. Of the strategic choice between his expression, or removing a weakspot.
It hurt. But he could push past pain.
Failure was another story.
Before Darkwitt was a Facilitator, he was an assassin. he learned how to fight, kill, and deflect incognito. Even though he's grown long past the days of his youth, He still has the reminders fresh on his mind.
To stay in control. To grow up.
Little angsty, but an aspect of Darkwitt I rarely get to share. It's hard to appear as a threat if people are abundantly familiar with your failures. But hiding your vulnerabilities has its price.
Art by FongU