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MICHAEL LOOKED A SHADOW OF HIMSELF. In fact, if anyone had happened upon him as he stumbled blindly through the forest - clothes tousled, hair a floppy mess atop his head and eyes so sunken in his head he looked like he had just finished a four week-long bender, they would run in the opposite direction. But at moment, he wasn't aware what was wrecking him more, Molly's departure or his father's ignorance.
He did regret it, the second she marched out of sight he regretted it. Michael had come to accept that he was selfish and greedy by nature, and was an altogether callous individual for expecting Molly to stay with him while he continued with his plans for the world. The Langdon boy couldn't help but draw parallels between himself and his biological father, Tate - both expecting the ones they loved to ignore the bloodshed they left in their wake. Michael always considered Tate to be weak, listening for hours on end while Molly would rant about him and how he incessantly chased Violet. He would never defend his 'Dad', the day he was so cruelly cast away by him would never be one forgotten.
It didn't matter whether or not he had Tate Langdon on his side anyway, not when he had an actual father. Albeit, one that was ignoring him just as much today. Michael had lost Mead and now Molly too, he sure as hell wasn't allowing someone he considered the main benefactor to those losses abandon him as well.
Clenching his jaw with unrelenting rage, he stopped in his path when he finally found a clearing within the woods large enough to draw a pentagram. Bending over and picking up a stray rock, he got to work in carving its shape in the dirt. He wasn't sure how well it would would - it hadn't worked any of the days premeditating this tantrum, but Michael had to show his father that he was at his wits end.
"I'm not going any further!" He called out, knowing well that He was always listening. "Father, tell me what to do and I'll do it. I did everything you asked so far. And I'm not leaving this circle until you talk to me. They're gone. The warlocks, Ms. Mead and now you've taken my Molly from me too. I don't care how much you hated it, you knew what I felt for her. You tell me what to do, or you let me die here."
Michael meant every word. It felt like he had reached, or been thrown against, a brick wall. A brick wall that blocked him from continuing, stopped him from executing his birthright. There was a part of him that knew Molly had been wrong - that she really was enough for him. He knew that if his father had ceased all communication with him even a week before, he'd have ignored his duty and lived the rest of his life exploring this world with her by his side. They could be the couple from the movies, they could be normal.
But that was before, and it was too late now. Molly had left him, he knew it this time there would be no forgiving his actions. She didn't even appear in his dreams like every other time they were apart. Now when he closed his eyes at night, all he could see was frightening images of those that he lost, suffering and in pain.
So he was going to sit where he was for as long as it took, or he was going to die then and there.
