[He grimaces slightly at the thought. Meals hadn't held much joy for him in the past few days. Not much did, not with all those negative emotions swirling about in his head, throwing into question why in the world he need have existed at all.
He'd been the Devil, after all, and there wasn't an ounce of good that could have come from it... Or so he'd thought.]
cw: suicide
He'd been the Devil, after all, and there wasn't an ounce of good that could have come from it... Or so he'd thought.]
Sandwiches? Somethin' light.
[He thinks he can stomach that much.]