S A M U E L
"I..suppose I am, but it isn't r-red." Sam pointed out, trying to not feel like an idiot for saying something so horrendously obvious. He flinched as she touched the cut, a memory of pain with no actual weight behind it. As much of a wimp as he had always been, he wished in that moment he could feel the sting of the cloth; the reminder that he was alive.
Her question was innocent, obvious from an Outlander, but it still made him sigh heavily and hold his parasol further over his face.
"Well...um. I was made...different, by the Gods. By my family. I can...do some things." He didn't elaborate on this, not wanting to focus on it and hardly someone who used his God-given powers often anyway. "But it's not good. I can't be in the sun or feel anything anymore and--and-" Knowing he'd get too emotional if he continued this, he took a deep breath and stopped.
"Sometimes I have to go to the Gods to ask for more..um. Power." That was a simplification, an altering of the exact truth, but he didn't want to tell a stranger all about his body fluids. "I don't like doing it.."
I AM THE OCEAN CLAWING AT YOUR MOON
