“Oh, thou have no idea how truthful thy statement is, sir…”
Icetales stared at his tea, but the will to drink it was completely gone. Bitterness and disdain oozed from his voice, but whether those were toward himself or toward someone else was uncertain.
“…But more than that, dost thou know what makes me the most cross about my noble status?” He lifted his head and stared at the dragon, his muzzle scrunched and his tails flailing. “The fact that other ‘mons, the ones who don’t know anything… they spit at me. Sling mud at my persona. They believe that just because of my status I can have everything served on a silver platter.”
He lifted his paw and looked at it. “See? This silver fur. This isn’t mere fur, but a symbol. This ties me to my family, to my father, whether I like it or not. This here… is the sign of the Kyukon, allegedly a blessing from the deities themselves.”
And then, he laughed. But that was not of joy. It was empty, like his spirit. “What joke! That is no blessing! This here is merely a chain, and will forever be my chain. My curse.”
He took a deep calming breath and shook his head. “…Whatever. I do not care nor want to care anymore. All I want is to forge my path, in a way or another.”
