Peccator

You always hear about nature versus nurture, but you never hear about something being born as a literal concentration of sin -- transgression made manifest.

At least, that's what they said about Him, and anything said frequently and with enough conviction can eventually evince itself into truth, right?

Even their name was a marker of what they were, like they couldn't ever escape it. There wasn't much they could agree on, but that they would die alone, and full of hate... that was the one thing they held in common.

Rumors about His existence couldn't possibly have been exaggerated, this He knew. There was no other way to explain the behaviors of the other hatchlings, of the adults, around Him. If He wasn't a transgressor, a sinner... it doesn't even beg consideration. Everything must be true, because otherwise it all would have been cruelty, wouldn't it?


Then there came Evenfall, in direct opposition to everything Peccator felt like He consisted of. Where He was pale, She was vibrant. Where He was angry and vindictive, She was love and laughter, an ever-flowing susurration of affection in His chest. Every negativity swiftly and firmly rebutted, all doubts smothered and replaced with a love so firm, all He could do was burrow in to the warmth of her and never leave.