He never knew his dad. His mum was always off with some other brute. He had no siblings. So he was alone. Always alone. The young sire grew up to be charming, putting on a convincing smile, a mask if you will, to please others. He thought that seeing others happy would make him feel better, but in the end, it made him feel worse. Seeing as that, he left. He never felt bad as he walked away from his mother, the aging damsel screeching angrily at her 'disobedient, disgrace of a son.' He never cringed at the pitying looks the fae's that had, in the past, swooned over him now gave him. If nobody ever cared, he would do the same in return.
