Cain the Mad. Cain the Cripple. Cain the Misfit.
They had a thousand names for him along with a thousands way to hurt him.
A thousand little daggers they used to prod him for thousands of different things that was wrong with him.
He knew what he was not, what he could never be was there need to remind him of that each time?
He sometimes told himself he didn't care, that the mutters and jeers were nothing but the noise of flies buzzing about a corpse. After all, had not Blake himself endured the same when he was clawing his way up from nothing? The people sneered at his brother once too, doubted him, mocked him, until he drowned their laughter in blood and made them kneel before his strength.
Cain admired that. Gods above, he envied that.
