time comes round again (it's etching at your bones)

The emptiness where his soul should be yawns wide, an arctic wind scouring his insides. He thumbs the heavy ring on his finger with all the unconscious casualness of newly formed, everlasting habit. The black obsidian is an ice-cold weight against his skin.Suddenly, emotion overtakes him with all the abruptness of a thunder strike. But it’s the wrong kind of feeling, not grief but anger, potent and heady. It fills him up with proudful fury, the same impulse that makes him toss his head and snarl at each injustice witnessed. How dare you, he thinks, flings the thought at everyone and no one, an injunction against the entire uncaring universe. How dare you.