Hopeful.
Regulus was not a man of faith.
The idea seemed elusive to him, repulsive during his youth and yet he held a strange yearning for it as he grew older. Perhaps it was the sense of peace, maybe even the yielding ignorance that it subjected to its subjects that enticed him. Knowledge did not lead to happiness nor contentment, but naivety possibly could.
That was what he truly desired, as his life lead to it's close, to be happy. Looking back on it, he knew death was foreshadowing him, how could it not? He knew the moment he was branded his life was no longer his, it was to be ended at the whim of a mad man, though at the time he did not realise this. He didn't realise a lot of things until it was to late.
There was one thing Regulus was in fact certain of, he may not be a man of faith but he was one of honour. His legacy as the last legitimate heir was short lived and scoffed at but to him it wasn't. The blood that ran through his veins was filled with history, power and magic, thick with darkness and smothered with power. This sort of blood held a power, one which would not let the last carrier fall.
Regulus was not a man of morality nor did he seek to be, but he was one of duty, and for that reason alone was why he was granted the gift of life. Afterall, blood runs thick and its values deep, though tainted, it was still pure. The Blacks would not fall into disgrace, they have been burned, but would rise, letting one small charge be the embodiment of this. And so the story, begins.
