The id, the ego, and superego were rather complex apparatuses of the man made palace that is the human mind, were they not?
It was almost amusing…. Possibly titillating to think of the possibilities of why and how those constructions of mere psychoanalysis were what supposedly drove people to do the unnecessary, or the improbable.
But here he was… right now….
Mouth hanging open a bit, a pink slip of a tongue darted out and licked pale rose lips. Heaving a sigh, Francis turned over and curled up a bit. Speaking of the id, he felt a hankering to go grab a blanket- who knew February would be so cold!
…. Oh oui, the whole psychoanalysis thing…
Rolling his eyes, Francis gave an annoyed huff and dropped the book onto the floor with a muddled thump. Oh woe was him! His usually comfortable couch of fainting- oh so chic and elegant, non? Well anyways, it only felt like a bed of spikes right now-!
Oh non non! Stop your whining, moi! Francis grumbled to himself, slipping his reading glasses off and rubbing his eyes. All of this worry, and reading of outdated psychology books wasn't getting him anywhere, was it? Non… Non…. Reading this things wouldn't make it any easier with his problem…
But why did it have to be that way-!?
Wincing, he felt his fingers digging into the upholstery of the couch, making his slender fingers turn pale, (well, paler than normal,) and beg for a release. Oh not his poor couch- it did not deserve to get beaten up over his stresses!
Releasing his hold with a tense frown, the lanky Frenchman swung his legs over and got up. Stretching a little, he reared his head back and gave a small sigh, while his light waves of golden curls cascaded down his back- out of his face. He had been laying on that stupid couch for hours! Hours trying…..
To well….
Um…
Okay, he should probably just admit it! Maybe like…. Maybe admit it like he had a problem!
Yet his lips became pursed into a frown. Looking down at the floor, his scooped his book up and trudged over towards the balcony doors. Oh who was he kidding…. It was obvious to everyone what his problem was….
No one…
Um….
Dropping the book now, Francis released a primal, frustrated sigh and dug the palms of his hands against his eyes in order to rub them and stop any stinging tears from passing through their flesh barriers.
Oui oui- he'd finally admit it;
He was absolutely, positively, undying or maimingly sure that… Tons of people hated him.
…..
And he wasn't sure why! Oui, he could be annoying- Francis knew he was full of dramatics! Ooolalala! Splendorous dramatics- twist upon turns dramatics! And sometimes hot air! Oh oui! And ooo! Sometimes he could be argumentative- like with Arthur or Alfred! Or a bit selfish! Or whiny b-but-
He still had his heart in the right place!
Hands finding their way towards the balcony handles, he threw open the doors quickly and braced himself for a bit of stinging wind as he left the slight warmth and comfort of one of his personal libraries in his mansion. Oui… His heart…. It was… No it…
It… it was big. He knew he had a big heart… He knew he tried to act compassionate when he could, or when there was time to- the hopeless romantic in him knew it!
Yet…
Francis tensed up, his features looking aged now- wiser, as he gazed out at the horizon in front of him and thought some more. He was… Had to be ridiculous! His dreams…. They… They were just little nightmares sure but tha-that didn't mean-!
Hunching over a little, Francis hugged his arms and swallowed thickly. Oh boy… The nightmares w-well..
Oui oui… They were pretty awful. Not chilly like the kids say these days none- these were bad nightmares….
Nightmares of people hating him, and screeching at him. Sometimes they would tie him to a pole and burn him alive… Like s-some sort of witch-
Stiffening, he suddenly hid his hands in his sweater sleeves, and then hid behind his hair. The urge to hide under his own bed felt great….
Why face the world when all it did was hurt you?
Literally! After all, he knew the whole wide world! Hahahah….
Tearing up a bit, he sniffled and swallowed down a choked sob. Okay, humor wasn't going to work in this case, would it….
Hellish exile of the east peacocks.
Worship of the great flame.
Ray of the vain vampire.
Shivering, he squeezed his eyes shut and faced the wind blowing from the east. The suns colors setting, they looked like crayon held over flame. Melting and splattering over all that fell under its gaze. The colors were now caressing Francis's body, shining through his hair like little beams, and dying it a rainbow of purples, pinks and oranges.
Had his boyfriend been there, he would have said he looked beautiful.
But all Francis felt like was a monster right now.
A monster… That everyone tried to hunt and slay. To tear his head off and throw it aside like a rag doll.
It made him stay up some nights in anguish. Why did he get the feeling so many people hated him?! What, just because… H-he could see the dead? And talk to them…
He rolled his eyes and chastised himself. Only he and Matthew knew of that- no one else really did.
No… Everyone said that he was too iminent. That he enjoyed touching others for all the wrong reasons.
And that thought made him sick to his stomach. He would never t-touch someone! Not without consent! And why did he get the feeling people thought he'd kiss others forcefully?! Or-or do worse?!
Tears sliding down his cheeks, he rubbed at his face roughly and sucked in a breath sharply. Non! Non! He didn't want to be called a monster! A rapist! Someone who stole from others and made their lives miserable! Matthew said he wasn't a cheat, a whore, or a manipulator- or a sociopath! Why did Francis feel as though people called him a sociopath?!
In a pagan temple.
A creole beauty crosses the pavillion.
Francis could see others laughing at him, calling him a witch though. Dressed in the slender outfit of a seductress- the pointed hat and all. On the prowl during the night, with a broom… He would saunter down cobbled streets, just daring for a pretty face to cross his path. To be thrown under his antagonizing spell-
With the half-mask
and the rule of the despot queen
winning the pedestal-
"S-stop…" He tried to tell himself mousily, clutching his head as the colors behind him started to melt down more. Soon the imaginary crayons would be sharpened down into nubs, and replaced with no ones.
Darker ones that taunted him of yet more sleepless nights.
Nights full of thundering hooves, as the darkness trampled forth. She brought with her a shaw of midnight blue. And stars were trapped in her death veil, shimmering and taunting him with the light he could not posses.
His lips painting with rose tips, they'll curl into a curdling, snarl. Venom spits from his mouth. He is Walpurgis, the witch of the night. Stealing your innocence. Making you squirm-
In the underworld
of the ragged little girls
her serpentine allures
each sharp talisman
every drunk javelin-
"Stop!" He begged himself, starting to sob. Those emotions running through him- so dark! Voidless!
Walpurgis is an it. It stalks its prey, waiting for the time to make a feast of it. Teeth sharp and snapping at the silver air. It wants to touch and infect all in its path. It is a disease ridden creature. It….
The guillotine runs
through the hazel thinness
with the rush of maltreatment
By now, in an anxious fit, Francis had worked himself down onto the floor. Screaming with tears, pulling at his hair and feeling as though. His mind… It had been taken over by a negative force. As if demons, like maggots had burrowed into his soul. Deep their wriggling holes were. Bleeding and seaping with pus and blood. Blood that built up in him like a drowning pool- threatening to completely drown him whole.
"Gloire au Père Gloire au Père!" He whispered shakily, panting and trying to force the words out of his mouth. H-he would pray- beg for the God above to rid him of these torturous words that would not go away. "Au Fils et au Saint-Esprit, comme il était au commencement, maintenant et toujours, et pour les siècles des siècles-!"
It is a glutinous mass that cannot be contained. In its lust it stalks and savors the flesh it tears from its victims. Chewing, spitting blood and bone. Creating meaningless ash in its wake. Walpurgis is a monster.
"Gloire au Père-!"
A dirty-
"Au Fils et au Saint-Esprit-!"
Evil-
"Maintenant et toujours, et pour les siècles des siècles-!"
Witch.
He was left sprawled about on the floor, his tears sliding down his face. In his anguish he had lost all of his energy. He felt the urge to just fall asleep there, under the closing darkness of the night that shone from the window. The full moon peeked through the balcony, shining a calming light over Francis's body as he started to fall into a slumber.
I hope…. I am not a witch like they think I am….
Dishevelled
wrapped in a tipsy cloth
the lifeless body
on the infamous slope
cold
in the shade of slaughter.
Author's Note, TheGuardianKnux: Hey. So basically I wrote this, combining all the sadness I use to feel whenever I would hear people hating Francis. I'm not sure why people continue to- it is ridiculous to be perfectly honest. But, it is their choice. And if they want to compare my favorite character to Walpurgis herself, then let them. I however, see Francis as a beautiful Goddess that people should not have the nerve to insult anymore.
Anyways, background information.
The Id, Ego and Superego are psychological terms. ^^ They refer to assets of the mind- such as one being impulsiveness. TV tropes or wikipedia can explain it better than me!
Next is Walpurgis herself. Walpurgis is a witch- a german one. She is referenced in Madoka Magica as the Ultimate Witch that can eat up and destroy whole cities in one day. :) She's just a terrible witch, so I sampled the poem she came from in this story. :) It's called Walpurgis Night- look it up!
Anyways, that's all I got for today! Hope Annzy, and all of you, like this. :)