There would never be any admissions, reconciliations, and certainly no tearful pleadings for redemption. Reality was reality, and what it admonished was clear—the selection of horrible people in the past had not been accidental but premeditated, engaged in with full knowing by a mind of the same ilk, a vicious sociopathy that accepted no blame and did not see past the outside, hiding behind the mask of a naive girl. Horrible people were what was wanted by that horrible heart. There would never be any regret, sadness, nor self-reflection there for wrongs done, never be any longing to take anything back. The only eyes sought were those of ugly people, inside and out, and it didn’t matter if the price were too high, only the material advantages bestowed. Emotion was not a factor, and there was no emotional capacity there anyway, only judgment, permanent and incapable of admitting fault, a sad, withered soul that now claimed the body. Closeness had never been desired, only the ability to say certain things were had, a certain lifestyle. Fading superficial beauty neither recognize itself nor the dreadful path it followed, though it followed it willingly, a killer hunting and hunted by scavengers. 

He had accepted that cold reality, though the other would never, even when their own actions, and lack of actions, proved it to them. Dismissal was their only tool, heartlessness their only cope, and to be owned by a cringeworthy ghoul their only desire. That’s what life there taught all, what it demanded, and no soul inhabited that small frame strong enough to defy it, leaving only endless self-deceit.