In the fields of grass, Scaramouche layed, gazing upon the cloudy sky, it was going to rain soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Scaramouche wanted his gnosis back, he despised the traveler for taking it from him, but there’s no way he could retrieve it now—Nahida had it. He laid helplessly, the emotions he felt eating him inside out, everything hurt. He tried to reach out and wipe the pitiful tears off of his face but it’s like all his energy had vanished

in the field he chose to lay in, crows came ever so often to peck at his once perfect skin, some even perching by and pecking at his blood, staining the dull grass

“…pesky crows.”

He weakly murmured, trying to bring himself to be angry, but he couldn’t bring himself to lash out. He was swallowed up by grief and pain, he’d lost his heart..again..what was he if he didn’t have a purpose to serve? He wasn’t even a harbinger anymore, Dottore didn’t want to take back a failure like him. He wanted so much more than to be a puppet..he wanted to be a human..with a heart..