He is not who you remembered him to be

He is not who you remembered him to be. It is not only the physical
aspect that has changed- his face is leaner and more streamlined, all
traces of baby fat gone; those three whisker marks on each of his once
rounded cheeks, those marks which define him as who he is, are now
more pronounced, no longer thin and threadlike, but more like horrible
jagged scars which tear into his skin, and you know what has caused
this change. He is taller, you realize, suddenly. You see his eyes
parallel to yours and you know that all those carefree days of
friendly jabs and insults at his height- or lack thereof, are gone and
will never exist again, save for a scattered reminiscences here and
there. His unruly mop of blonde hair has grown longer, fighting a
losing battle against gravity. His bangs shadow his smaller more
slitted eyes which are the essence of what has changed about this
young man who was once your best friend- no, your brother, the person
who became closest to you after your true brother's betrayal after you
had shut the world out and sought revenge single-mindedly. His orbs
which were once a clear cerulean which exuded optimism and joy and
love for his precious people are now a cold, uncaring, icy blue, the
eyes of one who had suffered one too many betrayals, eyes that
belonged to a person who had learnt, through experience, that he could
never trust anyone again. His lips which used to be perpetually locked
in a childish grin resembling one of a trickster fox are pursed and
emotionless as he faces you, his feet shifting on the dusty ground
into a firm stance, his lean but adequately muscled arms bent and
fingers curled and readied to make contact with your body. You laugh
bitterly as you mirror his stance, the tomoe in your scarlet eyes
whirring to life, because, you realize, it is you who had created this
stranger.