When you met him, there was no doubt in your mind: he was an illustration of monstrosity. His cold helmet and pale cloak were stained with crimson— a revolting colour of blood.

Run, you told yourself.

But where? You were alone in this world, barely alive — awaiting rescue from this pitiful routine.

How can you even explain him? He extended his hand to you when no one else did. Took you in, and liberated you from unseen manacles.

He was an escape, and a promise.