if we are so freeThen why are our minds not meant to be?

"Gifted". Could you really call having the ability of 'Mental Mimicry', a state of being gifted? And what the hell did she mean "You know your courtesies?" Deep down, he was still a soldier. And they were always taught to put other people over themselves... Well, at least other British folk. The Colonists were given the rough end, and treated much like cattle. Did Braxton feel some sort of pity towards those Colonists of old, that he pushed around, and beat down if they crossed a line?
Yes. Yes he did. He wouldn't take back what he did though. After, looking back on his actions a Redcoat in the King's Army, it was clear that they followed the old saying, "The road to Hell, is paved with good intentions."


But back then, they didn't really think the same way, that everyone else did in this day age. Plus, times were simpler than this riff-raff that was going on. Then again, the only reason Braxton thought that way, was because he was spiteful and deep within him, he still had that ever so burning, raging fire of hatred.
Just as he had heard Vitani speak to him as he was following her into her home, he stopped near a wall.
He tried to look as casual as he possibly could, and leaned up against the pristine and well designed walls that surrounded the dining room, that was elegantly designed .
He winced a little, and would put a hand on his head.

The Britishman was starting to recall that ever so dreaded night, where he and his men were lead off by that... That sultry vixen, who ended up killing everyone one by one... Braxton could recall the lick of the flames on his skin. The laughter of the other people she was with, and that sick, and twisted smile on that woman's face as she knew exactly what she was doing....
He then recalled that excruciating pain he felt, as his skin was seared and charred, and the temperature climbing. He was helpless, and thought he was dead, until he woke up and found himself in those woods, still the ashes, and his clothes burned off. But his skin was intact...
He wanted to stay dead, but he was cursed to stay alive as a Fae...

Braxton snapped out of it, and would swing his fists at a painting and cause the glass to shatter into his hands. He could feel the sharp, and fiery pain in his fist as the glass sunk deep into his skin. The blood was pouring of the puncture wounds, and onto that ever so pristine floor. The maid jumped and would shriek at the sight, as she would scurry off in great haste to get supplies to clean up the mess, and Braxton.
The dark haired man looked up at Vitani who seemed a little put off at what she just witnessed.
He felt embarrassed on the highest scale level. What the hell was wrong with him? He usually only had these moments in his little hideout... Why here of all places?
"Uhh... Sorry about that... I, lost myself...."
He said softly as he would sit down on the floor, a safe distance from the glass and would let his hand bleed out into the puddle that was already forming on the floor. Great, she'd have his head for this little incident.

"Feel free to take me to off into the woods and torture me, or leave me for dead for leaving your home in a.. Well, a mess."

Don't believe thy majesty,