Death. Athanasius knew it all too well.
They had seen a lot of it in their lifetime. It wasn't even that of strangers that they've seen die. They were friends, friends they'd cherished. Losing them hurt all too much, made the pain resonate and shake them to their core, loosening rare tears from their eyes. They hated death and what it brought. It brought so much misery, they couldn't help but hate everything associated with it: sickness, those who murdered, gods who let this happen repeatedly and to those who didn't deserve it.
Amaranthine certainly didn't deserve it.
This almost served to prove that Athanasius was right from the very beginning. If they didn't have friends, then they wouldn't ever get hurt again. The moment they thought about opening up their heart to someone, to look past all of the hurt they endured to try to be happy again, this happens. It was... unfair and cruel. Too cruel.
The smell of death on the air always made their stomach curdle and ache. They could nearly taste it, the copper that drifted through the air. The vampire shudders, wondering who was hurt, who had gotten killed now. Their first thought hadn't been someone that they knew. Rather, they figured that it was an acquaintance or someone that they didn't know at all. As they emerge, and their eyes find their friend's still body, their heart stops and shatters and a choked whine wrenches itself from their throat. They feel devastated. Grief fills them quickly, emotions making their throat close as tears sting their eyes and finally roll down their cheeks. They break down almost immediately, but their sobbing are painfully silent.