I'm bad with people. I have trouble letting them in, I think this is largely because with a few notable exceptions every time I have has wound up being painful. As a result I've built an, I think, fairly impressive suit of emotional armour.
It's pitch black and barbed. With a dagger of wit in my right hand and a buckler of indifference strapped to my left arm. It gives off an unholy aura of hate... And it kills anything that gets too close.
When I was young, and just finishing school seemed like it would take until the end of time, that seemed like a fine way to be. The armour became a second skin, then the landscape around me began twisting, until it was blackened and barbed like me.
The few people who survived my aura of hate stood out as vibrant and lush oases. Eventually I started spending less and less time in these places, worried of the effect my armour would have on them... And they would have on my armour.
So I was back to my wasteland.
From each oasis I could see shining cities, close enough to reach, the only way to reach them was across the pristine stretches of paradise. At first, I tried to reach the cities in my armour, but that just wasn't a good plan. The trip to the city had left holes in my defenses, I didn't see any need to patch them.
Eventually I was asked to leave, I was unprepared and unguarded. The pain was blindingly intense. I lashed out, ensuring I would never be welcome back
