Of course it had to be red. It doesn't endear him. Neither does Anna's patience or concern.
"I am a pit of misery," he informs her, gaze narrow and displeased. "I am storm clouds over head; I am thunder heralding the end of clear skies. I am the chill winds of winter and I am frost destroying flowers. I am a muscular twitch that will not fuck off, an unasked for cramp, and a slow, lingering headache that ramps up through the day. I am the concentrated hate of every single pet peeve at once."
He plops the flower frown onto his head, offset and crooked between the fluff of his hair and his small but still present horns. Pointing at it, he asks, "Do I look like this belongs on my head?"
no subject
"I am a pit of misery," he informs her, gaze narrow and displeased. "I am storm clouds over head; I am thunder heralding the end of clear skies. I am the chill winds of winter and I am frost destroying flowers. I am a muscular twitch that will not fuck off, an unasked for cramp, and a slow, lingering headache that ramps up through the day. I am the concentrated hate of every single pet peeve at once."
He plops the flower frown onto his head, offset and crooked between the fluff of his hair and his small but still present horns. Pointing at it, he asks, "Do I look like this belongs on my head?"