She released his soul, but she wished never to see him again—justifiable in the utmost. Jacopo will make no demands of Morgana. How can he? His sins are far too many, and while he isn't religious, he understands the weight of what he did, on her soul, on everyone's souls. In many ways, the cursed mansion came to be because of him.
Morgana released his soul, and now the one punishing him is himself.
The billiards table is another reminder of his failings, an object that boasted his power and wealth in a time of rapid growth and change. He'd been married to her—to part of her—and even then, he'd let joy slip between his fingers. He lines up a shot and flicks his wrist, the wooden pool cue cool against his fingers. The balls click against each other, the one ball bouncing off another, sending the second one into the pocket in the corner. Skill and precision; too bad it amounts to nothing.
Michel's less than impressive greeting is both a comfort and a stab in the heart. He's a better man than Jacopo will ever be, a good friend to Morgana, the kind gentle soul she deserves to know and talk with. In a perfect world... never mind that. He's been creating such a world with hid thoughts, the place he'd promised Morgana all those centuries ago, rendering it in careful detail. Peaceful, beautiful, safe. A respite for his aching soul, or at least part of one.
"Hmph." He straightens from the table, holding the pool cue at his side like a halberd. "Are you here to play?"
...Jacopo isn't the best at friendliness, so that makes them kind of even, right?
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Morgana released his soul, and now the one punishing him is himself.
The billiards table is another reminder of his failings, an object that boasted his power and wealth in a time of rapid growth and change. He'd been married to her—to part of her—and even then, he'd let joy slip between his fingers. He lines up a shot and flicks his wrist, the wooden pool cue cool against his fingers. The balls click against each other, the one ball bouncing off another, sending the second one into the pocket in the corner. Skill and precision; too bad it amounts to nothing.
Michel's less than impressive greeting is both a comfort and a stab in the heart. He's a better man than Jacopo will ever be, a good friend to Morgana, the kind gentle soul she deserves to know and talk with. In a perfect world... never mind that. He's been creating such a world with hid thoughts, the place he'd promised Morgana all those centuries ago, rendering it in careful detail. Peaceful, beautiful, safe. A respite for his aching soul, or at least part of one.
"Hmph." He straightens from the table, holding the pool cue at his side like a halberd. "Are you here to play?"
...Jacopo isn't the best at friendliness, so that makes them kind of even, right?