Mavius stood alone in his chamber, no servants bustling about, no lords murmuring flattery, not even the steady presence of guards, he was alone with himself and his mind. Once, he had despised solitude.
He had thrived in noise long ago, in laughter, in music, in the intoxication of perpetual celebration that life called for its shortness; people had called him a reveler, a bright flame burning through the nights.
Now, stripped of the second, he was forced to make a reluctant peace with the first.
At the very least, he thought bitterly, the silence spared him the sight of others shrinking from him. He knew what he had become, every inch of twisted skin, every mark, everything of what had been carved away and left with. He did not need eyes to feel their revulsion.
Men could not look long upon the sun for its blinding radiance.So too, no one could look long upon him without disgust seeping in their gaze.
