( Where his tears drop, spores of mould bloom, quickly darken, spread and rise up — then, abruptly, they shatter into dust motes. Two blinks of the eye, and the deed's done, until the cycle repeats itself.

And he pulls back his mask to reveal a face marked by beauty, in the rare spaces where it has not been tarnished by deep, vicious, careless burns — rimmed by dark tissue. )

...thank you for telling me. About your brother. I'll remember him.

( And, just like his mould, he crumbles to dust, evaporating. )