Lust
Zelos doesn't always like it. It's there, though. Always there. The Chosen sometimes thinks he'd much rather be unknown. Maybe then Seles and mother would still be around. If they were, he wouldn't chase their memories, and he wouldn't chase the other girls and he wouldn't lust like knows he shouldn't. It's a wonder he's not misogynistic as it is.
He should hate, but he doesn't really. He wants to believe the front of friendliness is just that – a front that doesn't touch the inside – but its more than skin deep if he's perfectly honest with himself. And that's something he tries to be at least. It wasn't good to be indecisive. He once thought he knew what he wanted: power to destroy and a reason to exist. And yet the other things shuffle, shuffle through his head and Seles was the perfect sister, the perfect girl. Zelos hated her for it, and loved it too.
Perfect. Never anything but perfect. 'Perfect,' he repeats aloud—but only he can hear it and all his body will do is mumble. It must be the reason she dislikes him, Zelos tells himself. He can search for his half sister in any number of women but he'll never find her. He knows that but he searches and searches anyway and he never succeeds.
It's a cold world. Full of harsh words and empty feelings and snow. The red snow that brought such dislike. It was cold and if Zelos wasn't so honest with himself, he would say he was cold as well.