bare fist, literally. How down must he have gotten? Was he going crazy now? What if something happened to him now? He had chased him away, it would be his fault. Could he live with that scar, branded with betraying his best friend? Could he just stand for it?

He just had to accept it as it was, he couldn't undo what had happened, but he could atone for it. He had never felt remorse, remorse was something that didn't fit his character. He was always sure of everything in what he was doing. He was a perfectionist. Each of his acts was not without reason. He had a detailed explanation for every step he took.His life was a network and everything served only one purpose. Each of his decisions reflected a reason in his life that he personally found extremely important and all of this boiled down to his goals. He had never done anything for fun or boredom, he would never afford such a shortcoming. He was far too pedantic and exact for that, and so this time too. Every time he saw the blood of his best friend on his T-shirt, he heard his voice shouting "I only want to protect her!" He had made fun of his words, did not believe him and even if he felt bad now, he still didn't. This voice pained his skull, the words penetrated deeper and deeper into his consciousness, talking to him more and more. These words made him mad because they forced him to think again and again about his mistake, not to get away from him, to demonstrate his fallibility to him. But he stayed calm.He was comparable to some great artists: Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Mozart, Beethoven all brilliant and yet ... insane. That's how he felt now. With every glance at his blood, inhaling the smell of sweat, the images rose up in him, dancing around him as if they were chasing him. Again and again he saw how unstoppable he was at that moment, how easy it was to let go of your fist, to let yourself go, how nice it was when the anger discharged, when the fist hit the target and yet ... wasn't he bleeding himself? And more in a figurative sense? Hadn't he even injured himself when he struck? Hadn't it even hurt him himself?

With this look, Kai thought of something, in many cultures it was customary to commit blood brotherhood among friends ... Blood brotherhood, there it was the word again. Blood was something holy, something of its own, something familiar, in some cultures they even said that the human soul resides in blood and now ... Tala's blood was stuck to his shirt.He just couldn't take it off. He felt himself obliged to let it feel, self-discipline, everyone should see what he had done and he didn't want to collide with it. Back in the Middle Ages, people who had committed a crime were burned or pilloried and so he wanted to use the symbol of Tala's blood on his shirt to demonstrate what kind of wrong he had committed. He believed that the looks that would be directed at him and the blood were a kind of atonement and so he decided to keep the clothes on.

And yet he hadn't even found an ingenious reason to justify his behavior - at least not YET.





KISSES your Jenny